


In Another Lifetime

by Cyberfairie



Series: Spy Business [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Temporary Amnesia, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-26 09:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 29,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3845563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberfairie/pseuds/Cyberfairie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one of Bull's brilliant ideas goes wrong the Inquisition is left dealing with the fallout of a Qunari none of them know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elves Don't Fly

Dorian woke up hard, Bull’s hot mouth wrapped around his cock as his tongue ran a lazy path to the tip.  Releasing a soft moan he reached one hand down and idly scratched at the spot where Bull’s horn met flesh.  It’s a movement guaranteed to pull a low growl from the Qunari, one that has Dorian arching his back as the vibration curls through him.

Bull pulled back, lowering his head further to work his tongue over Dorian’s balls, driving the mage’s spine further into the air.  “Fuck…Bull…”

“Shhhh, I’ve got you Kadan,” Bull growled softly, returning his attention to Dorian’s straining cock as he shifted to run one thumb over Dorian’s lips.  It’s a move they’ve used before, he knew Dorian was close and the mage would make much less noise with Bull’s fingers in his mouth.  Not that Bull cared, if left to him he’d have Dorian wake the whole camp.  But even now the ‘Vint still got nervous about things like that and tent walls weren’t made to contain sound.

Still, even knowing what’s coming, the feel of Dorian’s tongue swirling over his digits is enough to draw another growl from Bull.  Increasing the pace Bull focused on Dorian’s soft mewing of need, the way the mage’s fingers twisted against his horn as he tried to pull him closer.  The groan the mage let out as the hand that had been holding his hip down shifted lower, thumb brushing lightly around his tight hole before dipping slightly in.  That’s all it took to have Dorian arching against him, his muffled cries echoing in Bull’s ears as he swallowed everything Dorian gave him with a satisfied groan. 

“You taste so good Kadan,” Bull growled as he climbed his lover’s body before kissing Dorian wetly, Dorian’s fingers already moving to return the favor.

 

Dorian was sitting on a rock later that afternoon, basking in the warmth the stone retained even though the sun was starting to fade and remembering the morning.  Even if he discounted the brilliant start to the day, something he didn’t really want to do, it had still been a successful day, albeit a long one. They’d cleared out the ruins of Coracavus, a place Dorian had never thought to see, though he’d read tales of the infamous prison.  In truth, what was left of it had been beautiful.  Leave it to his countrymen to turn even torture into a work of art.  Dorian would have enjoyed looking around further had it not been for the darkspawn they’d had to send back to the Deep Roads, perhaps tomorrow.

Even more satisfying, however, was the fact that they had obviously deprived the Venatori of further researching the space.  He supposed it was childish but he found a particular pleasure in removing his corrupt countrymen’s avenues of research one by one.  Tilting his face up to catch the last of the sun coming over the mountain Dorian allowed a small smirk to curl his lips only to have the quiet interrupted by the sound of Bull deep laughter.

“Again Sera.”

“Shit.  Told you I can’t fly you daft tit.”

“Ah, we almost had it,” Bull growled.  “Think of the mayhem, Sera.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, one more time.”

By this point Dorian was already moving, nothing in this conversation sounding good to him.  Either Sera was going to end up with her brains scattered over the Western Approach or Bull was going to end up with a ruined arm to go with that damn knee of his.  Fasta vass, where was the Inquisitor?  Was he the only…

He was caught between pillars, no direct line to cast even the simplest barrier, when it happened.  He only caught the briefest hint of movement from the corner of his eye, heard the smallest scrape that turned into a cacophony of sound as part of the battlement tumbled to the ground.

“BULL!!!!” The word was torn from his lips as he cleared the center of camp, a scattering of soldiers staring in horror at the stone blocks.  Dorian’s mind refused to acknowledge what was below them even as he shouted for assistance in clearing them.  But even with two soldiers lifting each one it was too slow, his mind helpfully providing images of Bull bleeding out long before they reached him. 

“Stand back,” he growled, lobbing a combination of ice followed by fire at the pile, not caring when the stones splintered, shards piercing his body as they flew in every direction.  Motioning the soldiers forward to clear away the rubble Dorian was shouldered to the side by a healer, her hands moving over Bull’s still body.

Forcing his feet forward when everything in him screamed to run the other direction, deny that this had happened, that Bull couldn’t possibly be this injured from a stupid accident in _camp_ for Maker’s sake, Dorian dropped down beside his lover.  Blood, so much fucking blood, he wasn’t even sure where he could touch Bull that his hand wouldn’t come back covered in it.  It was a dark relief that he knew Bull was alive only because he couldn’t sense the arrival of the spirits normally drawn to death.  For perhaps the first time in his life he hated that his skills lay in Necromancy rather than Spirit Healing.

“He breathes.  Come, we must get him to the tent,” the healer muttered, ignoring Dorian’s sigh of relief and motioning for four soldier’s to heft Bull’s body and carry it off leaving Dorian kneeling in the rubble.


	2. I Am No Bull

“Eh, you.  Quizzie said to go get some food.”

Dorian looked up from his spot by Bull’s side, his brows closing together as his mind tried to make sense of Sera’s words.  It had been like this for the last two days, his mind sluggish when it came to anything but Bull.  If it was about his lover however he could tell you the time the last potion had been forced down his throat, regale you with the number of bones that had been broken and mended, espouse for hours on the numerous nicks and bruises he himself had healed after the actual healers had exhausted their own mana healing the major wounds. 

What he couldn’t tell you however was when his lover would open that one expressive grey eye of his and drive away the fear that still sat pooled in the pit of his stomach.  Eat?  There was no room in him for food.  Turning his attention back to Bull Dorian reached out to tuck the sheet higher up Bull’s chest, his eyes intent on searching for any small movement that might signal consciousness returning.  “I’m fine Sera.”

“Oy, fine he says.  Looks like dog shit to me.  Go, clean up.  He wouldn’t know you right now if he saw you.”

Dorian glared up at the archer again, intent upon driving her and her inane prattling away until he saw the look in her eye that said she too needed this time with Bull.  The elf had been inconsolable when she’d popped her head over the edge of the battlement only a second after they had hauled Bull away.  The Qunari’s toss had slammed her into the opposite side of the battlement where she had bounce back against the side that had tumbled down, knocking her out in the process.  He swore, when Bull woke up he was going to beat him again himself, what had he been thinking? 

With a shake of his own head Dorian stood, pausing for a moment as he passed Sera to place a hand on her shoulder.  That she didn’t shrug it off said much about the younger woman’s state of mind but neither of them said a word as Dorian squeezed softly then headed off to find a quick bite to eat and perhaps some new robes before returning.

 

“Oy, you best be waking up you,” Sera growled softly as soon as she was certain Dorian was gone.  Sliding onto the stool he had left open she gently nudged Bull’s shoulder.  “Ser Fancy Britches is gonna off himself worryin’ if you don’t.  Not that I care, I mean not about you waking up or anything.  Shit.  I _told_ you it was a daft idea.  Just wake up ok?”

Settling herself more comfortably in the chair Sera was preparing for a long wait when in an flurry of movement Bull sat up his arms reaching out to grab her and yank her off the stool into his lap.  Spinning her around to pull her back to his chest one hand closed around her throat, the other grasping her so tightly about the waist she knew she’d have bruises.

“Teth a.  Hissrad-asit?”

“Easy now big guy,” Sera grunted, her voice barely registering in the room with how tightly Bull had his hand around her.

“Hissrad-asit?  Viddathari.”

Eyes widening at the promise of violence not only behind those words but through the fingers that tightened even further around her windpipe, Sera had to clear her throat twice before being able to speak.  “Come on big guy, I don’t talk that Qunnie language of yours.   Can’t talk at all if you choke me to death.”

“Where…am…I?” Sera frowned as the words fell stiltedly from Bull's tongue, as though he’d needed to think about each of them.  A shiver went down her spine.  Something was wrong here.  Way wrong.  The hand that was cutting off her breathing loosened slightly and she took a moment to draw in a deep breath.

Before she could utter a sound the flap to the tent moved and Dorian stood there, clean robes only partly fastened in his haste to return.  A greeting died on his lips as he took in the sight of Bull sitting up in bed with Sera pulled across him, her face red from the meaty fist that was wrapped around her throat.  Everything was still for a moment then, “Bull?”

Another explosion of motion had Bull throwing Sera to the side as he lunged for the mage.  Dorian’s expression of surprise was quickly overthrown by years of self-preservation as he reached for the staff on his back, his hands already calling the spell.

“Katara.  Bas saarebas!”

Bull’s fury echoed through Dorian’s brain, the absolute look of hatred on his face almost shocking the mage enough to forget to speak.  Again years of practice had the words for the freeze spell falling from his lips as the distance between the two men was cut to nothing.  The last syllable of the spell barely vocalized, his staff blade hit the ground at the same moment Bull’s fist hit him full force in the jaw.  His face exploded in pain as his heart stuttered to a stop over the look of incredulous anger that flashed through Bull’s eye before he was frozen solid.

Before he could raise a hand to the jaw he knew was broken shouting surrounded him, Evelyn entering the tent followed closely by several foot soldiers who must have heard the commotion.  “Dorian?”

“Pretty sure the big guy broke his jaw,” Sera choked out, her own throat covered in darkening purple bruises. 

“What in sweet Andraste's ass?”

“Don’t know exactly.  Woke up all crazy like, didn’t know who I was.  Called me one of those videe thingies.”

“Dorian?” Evelyn sounded as confused as he felt but there was little he could add to the conversation even if he had been able to speak.  The slight amount of healing magic he had wasn’t enough to heal bone, even if he had been able to summon some bit of magic through the pain.

With a shake of her head Dorian was reminded of why they all followed the woman before him.  Her confusion banished as she started barking orders.  Manacles and chains for Bull first on the list, urgent to get them on him in the scant time they had before he thawed.  They’d work out the whys later, it was more important he not injure anyone else.  Then the healers were being called in and Dorian was led to the far side of the tent.

He had barely been seated on a cot before the young male healer before him gave him a pitying look.  “This is going to hurt, I have to reset it before I can heal it.”

The man proved true to his word as his fingers wrapped themselves around both sides of Dorian’s jaw and shifted.  With the memory of Bull trying to kill him fresh in his mind, it was almost a relief when the pain knocked him out. 

 

The Inquisitor stood before the Qunari and looked for any sign of the man she’d learned to call friend.  She was beginning to think it was a fruitless search.  Although the shackles they’d used allowed the man to walk, his movements were reduced to the short steps the two feet of chain between his legs would allow.  Even that was limited by an additional piece of chain that ran from between his legs to where it was tethered to one of the wagons.  Evelyn knew if it were her she would be unable to even stand from the weight alone, but Bull was stalking a short path back and forth between the two wagons, a steady stream of Qunlat falling from his lips.

She frowned as she watched blood begin to soak the bandages that still wrapped around his chest.  “Bull, you’re still injured…”

“Bashra Veshedan,” Bull growled, but his prowling stopped and he leveled one cold grey eye on her.  “Who…are…you?”

“Bull…”  Evelyn stammered to a stop when he lunged at her, brought up short by the chains.  A wheel creaked ominously but held.

“Ebas Hissrad.”  Bull growled, clenching his hands into fists before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.  Releasing it he pinned Evelyn with his one grey eye.  “I…am not…an ox.  A _bull_.  I am Hissrad.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loose translations:  
> Teth a. Hissrad-asit? :: Assist me. Where am I?  
> Katara. Bas saarebas! :: Die. Dangerous thing.  
> Bashra Veshedan :: Foreign trash  
> Ebas Hissrad :: I am hissrad


	3. Watching

Dorian woke in a panic, unable to believe he’d been so careless as to fall asleep.  What if Bull woke…

In a flash memories flooded his mind, the way his lover had looked when he’d lunged for him, the venom in his voice when he’d called Dorian a thing, the feel of Bull’s fist slamming into him full force, the look of indignant anger on his face when he’d been frozen solid.  A soft cry of denial escaped Dorian as he fell back down on the cot, his hand absently moving to his jaw as he shifted it slightly.

Perhaps the only tender mercy in this nightmare was that it didn’t hurt.  The healer had done a stellar job, not even the slightest ache when he opened his mouth wide.  If his memories of the event weren’t so vivid he could almost believe it had just been a figment of the fade.

Dorian might have laid there on the cot for the rest of the day, unable to summon the energy to move, if he hadn’t heard Evelyn’s voice rising in anger just outside the tent.  With a resigned sigh he pushed himself up and headed toward the noise, just in time to hear a second voice added to the mix.

“But we don’t know what it will do to him Inquisitor.  It would be better to keep him here in hopes that he may remember.”

“Lovely, and for how long?  You’ve already told me you don’t know that his memory will ever come back.  We should just build him a little hut right here in the desert?”

Dorian could tell from the way Evelyn’s voice raised at the end that she was feeling overwhelmed.  All three members of her hand-picked team injured in a senseless accident that had nothing to do with her, yet knowing her as he did, he knew she’d be blaming herself.  “Evie…”

“Dorian!” Relief lit her features as she turned to him, hurrying over to hug him tightly.  “How are you feeling?”

“Surprisingly whole all things considered.  May I ask what this is about?”

“It’s Bull…Hissrad,” Evelyn corrected herself, then further explained when she saw Dorian’s confused look. “According to the healers this can happen with a head injury.  Bull is, that is, shit Dorian, the Bull we know isn’t here anymore.  Somehow he’s lost all memory of ever _being_ The Iron Bull.”

“But, how, I don’t,” Dorian managed to stammer, feeling like the ground had been pulled out from under him.  Suddenly Bull’s rantings made sense but…

“Sometimes the mind cannot function with the damage it sustains,” the woman Dorian recognized now as Bull’s healer added.

“But you said he was going to be fine, that you had fixed all the damage.  I could have…we could have,” Dorian’s voice was shrill.  He was completely unaware that he’d been advancing on the woman until Evelyn’s grasp on his arm halted his progress.  Fasta vass, if there had been damage they’d missed and he had just _sat_ there.

“It’s not her fault Dorian,” Evelyn assured him, her hand patting gently against his arm.  “Three different healers have looked at him, they all say there is no physical damage at this point.  They believe it will clear up on its own, they just can’t say how long it will take.”

“So your argument earlier…”

“I want to take him back to Skyhold, perhaps being somewhere familiar to him.  But the healers are uncertain.”

“None of us have encountered such an issue personally Inquisitor,” the healer clarified.  “I’m not saying moving him will harm him but we cannot be sure.”

“We take him home.”  Dorian’s voice came out more certain than he felt and Evelyn quickly nodded her approval.

“I’ll give the order.  We’ll get him back Dorian.  I promise you.”

It was a lie.   She could no more promise him that than offer to deliver the stars to him in a bucket but Dorian let it stand.  If he didn’t refute her claim perhaps that made it just a little more likely to be true.  “I need to see him Evie.”

“Dorian…”

“I, I just have to know…”

Waving off the healer Evelyn stepped closer, her voice dropping so the words were for Dorian only. “Now is not the time Dorian.  In his mind we have abducted him from Seheron where he was stationed.  He won’t talk to any of us really, but Dorian, you’re Tevinter.  To him he’s been at war with your people for who knows how long…”

“Venhedis,” Dorian muttered under his breath, memories of the stories Bull had shared with him about his time in Seheron flooding his mind.

“Promise me Dorian, promise you won’t go to him right now,” Evie’s voice was rough with emotion, the hand that still grasp his arm tightening painfully.  “I don’t want to have to ki…hurt him...because he causes you or anyone else harm.  Let me get him to Skyhold, then we’ll see how things go.”

Dorian felt like he’d stepped into a nightmare without knowing how to get back out.  Hadn’t it just been a few days ago that Bull was waking him up with that smile on his face and ‘Kadan’ on his lips?  Choking back a cry Dorian squared his shoulders and gave Evelyn a slight nod.  “Alright Evie, if you think that’s best.”

 

 

Dorian’s resolve was being tested after only two days and nights.  Two long, incredibly boring days spent watching Bull, kaffas but he refused to accept the man as Hissrad, from a distance.  What was perhaps even more disturbing was the way he knew Bull was watching them.  He could tell when the Qunari would shift in the back of the wagon to give himself a better view of each of the soldiers riding alongside and behind him.  He would twist, dropping his head down onto one raised knee as if exhausted and resting but Dorian could see the slight tapping of one finger that said he was listening, most likely counting off the distance between himself and the nearest guard.

But nights were the worst.  They would prepare him a bedroll between the wagons and after delivering food and water Bull would be left alone.  It was then that Dorian, safely tucked away in his tent on the far side of the fire would watch the emotions play out on his lover’s face.  Dorian could practically read Bull’s thoughts on each person his eye met and none of them were good.  Suddenly a memory entered his mind, he and Bull sitting with Cole in the tavern.  The spirit had asked Bull if he considered how to kill everyone he met and Bull had regarded Cole so curiously when he’d asked if _he_ didn’t. 

Dorian no longer had any doubt that comment had been true, he had watched the thoughts go through Bull’s mind and play out in his eyes for two nights running.  Almost more concerning to Dorian was that _he_ hadn’t said a word to Evelyn yet.  Certainly he should be warning her if he believed Bull meant to harm them and yet he couldn’t make himself betray his lover in that manner.  So, he waited…and watched.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we'll hear from Bull...er, Hissrad, next chapter!


	4. Magisters and Dragon Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't usually post timelines but this chapter takes place the evening after the last chapter.

He started with what he knew.

Knee brace.  He remembered the injury but not needing a brace.

Scar running over his left rib cage.  A matching one on his right shoulder.  Both probably caused by an axe he couldn’t remember.

The eye.  There was no way that happened recently, even the best healer couldn’t manipulate scar tissue that well.

Tightness in docked fingers of left hand, slightly painful in the morning that reminded him of one of his instructors in Par Vollen.  He’d watched the man swallow down a roar of pain every morning when he’d tried to straighten his swollen digits, years of battle and age turning him into a cripple.  Hissrad had sworn he’d fall in battle before he met that fate.

Four things.  Not so very many but each one definitive proof that a chunk of his life had been stolen from him.  The human woman, the one they called the Inquisitor had spun a tale worthy of his Tama about him leaving the Qun, choosing this ragtag group of humans and elves over his duty to his people.  He’d give them credit, the story was a compelling one and if he’d simply been Tallis or Gatt it may have given him pause.

But he was Hissrad.  He had no doubt who was behind this.  The only question was what the man trying to gain.  Or what had he already gained?  That was the question that froze Hissrad’s blood.  To think that he might have been tortured into giving up his men and not even know.  Perhaps that was the fate that had befallen his eye, a casualty of mundane torture that had caused him to turn on his own people and now he couldn’t even remember the betrayal.  How many lost lives was he responsible for?  How many times had this exact scenario played out?  Was this simply the start to a new cycle of torture?  He had known the ‘Vints had some nasty tricks, but removing memories, that was one he hadn’t seen coming.

“Hissrad?”

He was startled to find the Magister standing between him and the fire, far enough away that Hissrad couldn’t reach him but close enough to see the uncertainty on the mage’s face.  Hissrad frowned slightly at that.  Every Magister he’d ever encountered had been a pompous son of a bitch, uncertainty was something they ate for breakfast in the Imperium.  Still, maybe that explained why the one before him was apparently operating alone.  Not powerful enough to maintain his seat in the Magisterium, looking to become a war hero and return home triumphant.  Wouldn’t be the first.  “Your name bas saarebas?”

Again Hissrad caught an odd emotion in the man’s eyes before he answered.  “Dorian Pavus.”

“How long?” The question escaped him before he could bite it back.

“I’m sorry?”

“Not yet but you will be,” Hissrad hissed under his breath before clarifying.  “How long have you held me here?”

Again with the uncertainty.  It was a miracle the mage before him yet lived, to display everything he felt so openly should have guaranteed his death the moment he set foot in Seheron.  “It is 9:42 Dragon, but I…”

“Impossible!” Hissrad growled, forgetting his chains for a moment as he lunged toward the Magister.   Five years.  He couldn’t have lost five years. 

“It is true.  The Inquisition formed in 9:41 Dragon, we have been at war with Corypheus for over a year.”

Hissrad frowned as he filed the name away.  It meant nothing to him now but the casual way the name rolled from the mage’s tongue said it was something Hissrad should investigate.  “What is it you want with me Magister Pavus?”

The dramatic roll of the mage’s eyes would have been amusing if he wasn’t also Hissrad’s captor.  “I thought I was through with this. I am a mage and while it is true that all Magisters are mages it is not true that all mages are Magisters.  I am an Altus and the only thing I _want_ is for you to regain your memories.”

“One of those then.  You get off on seeing me _know_ that you broke me.”

“ _What_?  Fasta vass, maybe Evie was right.”  The mage began pacing, his boots stirring up the desert sand as he let off a steady stream of Tevene.  Hissrad was only able to catch every fourth or fifth word but apparently the Magister was well versed in the language of sailors and gutter rats.

Hissrad settled back against one of the wagon wheels, content to watch this not-Magister work himself into a fit.  He was beginning to think the man mad when he stopped suddenly and pinned Hissrad with a stare so serious he found himself sitting up at attention.  A shiver coursed through him as the mage reached into his tunic.  Hissrad tensed, not certain what potion or grenade he might be planning on unleashing when instead he pulled out…but it couldn’t be.

“Do you recognize this?  I should think you’ve had time to notice its match around your neck sometime in the last three days.  You gave this to me as a token of our…well, our commitment to each other.  I don’t know how to convince you of this but I have no desire to break you or harm you.  I, well,”  the mage broke off, one hand rising to rub at the back of his neck in a movement that strangely enough reminded Hissrad of someone.  The mage’s cheeks were pink when he finally stammered.  “Fasta vass, I am in love with you.”

Hissrad couldn’t help the sharp bark of laughter that poured from him.  Damn, he’d been so determined to give the ‘Vint nothing, to remain a blank slate, but really?  He was supposed to believe he had earned the love of an Altus, the pinnacle of mage society and breeding.  Even more absurd, that the emotion was returned? 

Reaching for his own tooth he hesitated before touching it.  Was the mage lying?  Was there someone out there, someone he had connected with in the last five years?  It seemed unlikely.  Or perhaps more insidious, was this where the blood magic started?  Was the tooth the cause of his loss of memory?  Some enchanted bit of sentiment, just important enough that he wouldn’t remove it?

With a sharp tug Hissrad tore the chain from his neck, the silverite biting into his skin before finally giving way.  Holding the tooth before him he gave the piece a look of disgust before dropping it to the ground.  “Well played Magister but apparently you got a hold of a children’s book.  It is a fantasy told to the young before they grow up and stop believing in such sentiment.  No one of the Qun would believe such nonsense.”

Hissrad wasn’t certain what he had expected.  Anger, frustration, a furious demand to put the necklace back on.  Instead the mage looked as if he’d been struck, his body so shockingly still he might have been the victim of one of his own freeze spells.  When the man finally turned to leave without a word Hissrad was almost convinced he’d seen a tear reflected by the firelight. 

 

The moon was high in the sky when Hissrad shifted restlessly on his bedroll.  Sleep had been impossible to find tonight.  Now that he knew how much time had been stolen from him his mind was wasting no time in filling in possible scenarios for how those years had been spent.  He was a creative man.  There were many, many possibilities.

Rolling over again his eye caught sight of the dragon tooth, the fading firelight reflecting off the silverite and casting a reddish tone to the tooth itself.   It felt disrespectful to leave part of such a revered creature lying in the dust.   He told himself he should ignore it.  It was potentially dangerous, an object of his servitude.  A lie.  Still he reached for the chain, tugging until he could wrap his fingers around the tooth itself.  It was a comforting weight in his hand, the tooth warming against him almost instantly.

He would not be foolish enough to put it back on, even if the chain could be salvaged.  He wondered about the creature it came from, his mind changing tracks to provide more pleasant thoughts of dragons.  An endless parade of majestic creatures.  Blue and silver.  Green and grey.  Purple and bronze.

Lying back down he allowed sleep to take him, the tooth still firmly clenched in his fist.


	5. I Told You So

“Oy, big guy, you got any of them memories back yet?”

Hissrad looked up to find the petite blond elf he’d throttled the other day climbing into the back of the wagon.  Ballsy little thing, daring to come within reach.  Of course he did notice that she didn’t sink fully into the wagon, sitting instead on the back flap, her fingers picking at the wood.  “What should I remember?”

“Ha, now that’s the question right?  I mean do you remember the right stuff or the wrong stuff?  Sure a guy like you has things that he’s better off forgetting but how do you know til you’ve remembered?  And then it’s too late and you’re all like 'Oy, I’d rather not remember thank you very much'. But now it won’t go away and you’re almost wishing you were sitting in the back of a wagon not remembering shit.”

Hissrad laughed sharply, startling the elf so much that she almost fell from her perch and earning him a glare from the guard sitting up front.  When the elf righted herself she chuckled at her own antics before turning her attention back to him.  “I think there must be some of him still in you.”

Hissrad ignored the comment.  There was nothing to be gained by denying what they both knew to be false.  Instead he asked, “Why do you serve him?”

“Serve who?  Only one I serve is the Inquisitor and she don’t calling it serving.  Suppose that’s why I’m still here.”

“Not the woman.  The mage.”

“Ser Fancy Britches?” Sera squealed before bursting into laughter.  “Dorian?  Serve _him_?  Oh yea, wouldn’t he like that?  Dress me up proper like, peel him grapes, yes sir, no sir.  More likely to spit in his tea, yea?”

The woman was more exhausting than the flies that gathered in the shade during the summer months in Seheron.  The ones that swarmed so thick they darkened the sky, crawling over your skin like a blanket until your only choice was braving the burning hot sun to drive them away, back into the shade.  “I grow tired Venak Hol, leave me.”

She regarded him critically, her head tilted like a curious bird.  “He was my friend you know.  You were.  Are.  Whatever.”

She was gone, rolling right off the back of the wagon, before Hissrad could decide how to respond.  He frowned, a soft growl forming in his throat.  That last thought was dangerous.  He was their prisoner.  It wasn’t his responsibility to be concerned about responding or to even speak at all.  And yet he found himself drawn into these conversations.  Like with the mage last night.  Dorian.

No.  The mage.  The Vint.  Magister if he wanted to needle the man.  Prisoners did not refer to their captors by name.  The fact that just rolling the one word around in his mind stirred up something other than memories did not factor into things.  He was Hissrad.  He would not be lulled into a false sense of security.

Leaning against the side of the wagon he closed his eye and listened for the sound of steel boots bouncing against the buckles of a saddle.  The chomping of teeth against a bit.  The bark of laughter further back in the ranks and the sharp reprimand from a superior that shut up the bit of humor.  All the while his fingers pried at the nail he’d discovered didn’t sit quite firmly enough in the wooden floor of the wagon.  It had taken him two days to gouge out enough wood to get his fingers around it and now it was just a matter of working the metal out. 

He felt the wagon shift as the guard up front turned to look at him and he forced his muscles to relax, his hand going slack over the loose piece of metal.  It wasn’t a rush.  He would work it free, he would escape and he would reclaim his life.  There was no other option.

 

 

“He didn’t mean it Dorian.  He is confused.  Bull would never lie to you.” 

As usual Evie cut to the chase without apology, leaving Dorian no chance to deflect.  Sparing her a quick glance as she slid into formation beside him on that giant hart she favored, Dorian told himself she was trying to be helpful.  Still his words came out more bitter than he’d intended.  “But he’s not Bull now is he?”

“I warned you Dorian…”

“Oh yes, now the ‘I told you sos’ can start.  Let’s hear it Evie, tell me how the horrible 'Vint has brought this on himself.”  Dorian sighed heavily, his hand falling slack on the reins as he closed his eyes for a moment.   It was unfair of him, he knew it, but he couldn’t seem to force his mouth to say that he was sorry.  Reaching instinctively for the dragon tooth around his neck he pulled his hand away from it the moment he realized what he was doing.  He wondered how many types of a fool it made him that he still wore the wretched thing, tucked away where no one could see it.

No, he would not think about that now.  Resolutely opening his eyes he allowed them to fall on the wagon that rolled along in front of them.

“I didn’t mean it like that Dorian, I just hate to see you hurting.” He didn’t need to look at her to know the look she’d be giving him, the pity he’d see in her eyes.

Fasta vass, why had he said anything to her in the first place.  It had been a moment of weakness, the shock of Bull’s denial still fresh in his ears as he’d sought out his tent only to stumble into hers by mistake.  There had been no hiding the moisture on his cheeks and she had provided warm arms to rest in while he got over the shock.  Thankfully she had not pressed him for details beyond telling her of the dragon tooth.  He had skipped over his ill-timed declaration.  Venhedis, what had he been thinking?  To say those words to Bull now when he had bitten them back so many times.  He had gotten no more than he deserved. 

But accepting comfort for his folly in the still of the night was different from watching pity play across her face in the light of the day.  His eyes still on the Qunari pretending to sleep in the back of the wagon Dorian steeled his spine and made his choice.  His Bull was gone, that had been proven to him without doubt the night before.  The man he currently watched was a stranger.  A dangerous stranger, and he was up to something.  “I don’t trust him Evie.”

“He is not the same man Dorian, but the healers…”

“No, not that.”  Dorian could see the muscles in Bull’s…Hissrad’s…biceps bunch, his forearms twitch.  What was he doing?  “He is planning something, I know it.”

“He’s shackled hand and foot Dorian, what could he possibly do?”

“I don’t know Evie, just promise you’ll keep him well guarded.  I fear…” Dorian broke off. 

“He hasn’t attempted to harm anyone since the first night Dorian.  He is simply confused.  But I’ll up his guard if it makes you feel better.”

What would make him feel better was for this nightmare to be over with.  He knew that Evie tended to see the positive in any situation, kaffas, without that optimism he wouldn’t be here now.  But it was folly to believe Bull was still somewhere in there, to let that belief temper her actions. 

Of anyone in the Inquisition he was perhaps the only one who could say he knew Hissrad.  The only one who had been privy to exactly what the man had done in Seheron under the guise of duty.   Who knew exactly what the warrior was capable of, despite the toll it would later take on his soul.

He could only hope Evelyn was right, that somewhere inside remained some small part of The Iron Bull, because if she wasn’t people were going to die.


	6. A Late Night Meeting

It had taken the better part of two days to not only work the nail free but to use it to spring the locks on the shackles in such a way that they didn’t appear to be broken.  Had they been in terrain he knew he might not have bothered with the deception and simply leapt from the wagon and disappeared into the jungle.  Unfortunately, while the dry heat of the desert had given way to temperate mountains and valleys, the forestation was not dense enough to allow for such a straight forward attempt.  Instead, he had made certain the shackles would give when he needed to and bid his time.

Carefully watching his enemy had taught him one thing, they were shit at guarding prisoners.  From the brunette dwarf who had a tendency to get a little too close, her curiosity about the giant Qunari overshadowing her common sense, to the blond human who tended to remain near the fire where it was warmer.  That would work to Hissrad’s advantage since his opponent’s night vision would be shot to shit.  A sword to the heart would be a harsh lesson about choosing comfort over practicality.  One the rest of the soldiers would learn from.

In truth the only complication Hissrad could anticipate came from the scout that typically stood the furthest guard position.  Now there was a man Hissrad could appreciate.  Cautious, alert, his hand grasping his bow in such a way that he would have an arrow notched in a second.  He neither roamed too far so as to be out of shouting distance nor close enough to have the firelight affect his vision.  It was this man Hissrad watched closest on this night, knowing his success likely depended on timing the scout’s patrol correctly.

 

 

Dorian folded his spare robes and placed them in his pack carefully, unwilling to risk damaging them despite his ire.  He couldn’t believe Evie was getting rid of him.  Alright, technically she wasn’t punishing him, but it felt like it.  Even if he was the only rational choice to ride ahead and warn Skyhold of the incidents that had led to Iron Bull being brought through in chains, it still felt like a reprimand.  Perhaps because only two breaths before telling him he was to leave she was commenting on the fact he was losing sleep to watching Iron Bull through the night.

Fasta vass.  Hissrad.  Dorian didn’t think he’d ever get used to the sound of it.  Even worse was that every time he thought of the name he still heard Gatt gloating that it meant liar.  Part of him wished the irksome elf was still alive, if only so he could kill him all over again.

Tucking the last two books into his pack he cinched up the top then gave the tent a once over before hefting it to his shoulder.  Satisfied that everything personal was accounted for he stepped out into the cool night air and shook his head again at Evie’s insistence he leave in the dead of night.  She said it would be easier for everyone if the troops weren’t aware of his leaving but Dorian had a feeling she was hoping to avoid a last minute incident between he and Hissrad.  Whatever the reason she was going to owe him a bottle of that Sun Blonde Vint-1 she had secreted away, it was only fair considering he’d probably lose a toe to frostbite traveling at this hour.

 

 

Hissrad knew the moment was right when the dwarf’s scabbard scrapped across the corner of the wagon.  Without opening his eyes he listened to the kick of her boots against the ground.  He was correct, she was cutting too close.  She should have stayed closer to the supply tent.  In a burst of motion he kicked out with his legs, tangling his feet up in hers and dragging her toward him.  By the time she opened her mouth to shout out a warning his hand was already slapping across her lips, his silver skin shining in the moonlight.  The surprise in her eyes quickly turned to fear as she realized he’d also covered her nose with one large hand, effectively cutting off her air supply.  Flailing arms secured with his second arm he winced as her nails dug into his forearm, counting off the seconds until with a final silent sigh she went limp in his arms.

Hands shifting to either side of her head he prepared to sever her spine, his fingers digging into her skin tight enough to bruise only to hesitate at the last moment.  He wasted precious seconds arguing with himself.  Compassion was wasted on the battlefield.  The enemy you spared today would be the one to sink a knife in your back tomorrow.  Yet, no one here had raised so much as their voice to him.  She was of no threat to him and he would be far enough away by morning.  Veshedan!

Swallowing a low growl he tore a strip from his bedroll and wrapped it around her mouth, making sure to leave her nose free then quickly bound her hands and feet.  Before turning his attention toward the blond by the fire.

 

 

 

By the time Dorian had crossed camp to where the mounts were stabled he was already regretting giving in to Evie’s demand he be on the road before dawn.  He was also considering, not for the first time, that Cullen had the right idea with that monstrous cloak of his.  Not that Dorian would ever consent to wearing a dead animal around his shoulders, but he could appreciate the practicality of the garment. 

Sighing as he stomped his feet to get the blood flowing he rounded behind the last tent, he looked up expecting to find his mount saddled and ready for him.  Instead he froze, his less than quiet approach alerting the Qunari before him who currently had one of the scouts by the neck, the man’s face turning a disturbing shade of red before he fell limp in Hissrad’s grasp.  Dropping the scout at his feet Hissrad’s hand reached for the sword now strapped to his side even as Dorian reflexively reached for his staff.

Dismayed eyes met a dispassionate one as Dorian attention shifted from the crumpled scout to Hissrad and back again.  “Kaffas, how could you?”

“How could I what?  Defend myself?  Dare to escape?  Thwart your attempts to control me?  I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific Magister.” 

“How could you kill him?  Scout McLearon has shared drinks with you and the Chargers more than once while in Skyhold.”

Hissrad’s brows pulled together, his own eye daring to dart down and take in the man at his feet.  Again he was forced to question the mage before him, no Magister he had dealt with had ever been concerned for the Soporati beneath them.  “The how’s are too numerous to list.  However, apparently all the blood magic has affected your eyesight Mage, the man is merely unconscious.  A mercy I will have to reevaluate if you continue to delay me.”

Dorian was surprised to find that the man was indeed still breathing, his own sharp exhale of relief echoing in the silence between them.  Perhaps Evie was more right than he had thought.  “Why not kill him Hissrad?  Why would you leave an enemy alive?”

Hissrad would never understand the odd mage.  Was that surprise he heard beneath the taunt?  “Veshedan Mage, I can rectify that if you would prefer.”

“No!  No, it’s not that,” Dorian hurriedly assured him, his own eyes looking for any sign of his lover beneath the spy’s mask of indifference.  “Hissrad, you cannot possibly hope to outrun the entire Inquisition.  Run now and it will only prove to them you require chains.”

 “Parshaara, Bas Saarebas,” Hissrad growled, beginning to pull the sword from the scabbard.  “You will let me pass.”

“I can’t do that.  Surely you know I can’t…”

“You would claim to be a friend when all your actions prove otherwise.  Let me pass and I shall let your people live.”

Dorian assumed Hissrad read his response on his face, in some subtle change of Dorian’s eyes or mouth, because even as Dorian began casting the sword was pulled from the scabbard and Hissrad was leaping over the fallen scout.  In deference to the downed soldier Dorian used a static cage to again restrain his lover as he shouted out for assistance. 

 

 

The sun was already significantly over the horizon by the time Dorian made his exit from camp, knowledge that the evening could have ended much worse weighing heavy in everyone’s minds, as the other two soldiers were also found bound but alive.  Evelyn had finally assigned two guards to Hissrad every moment of the day and the second wagon had been gone over to ensure no repeat escape attempts would be easily had.

Dorian knew he should be feeling relieved that given the chance Hissrad had chosen to spare the soldiers who had stood between him and freedom but all his mind seemed to want to focus on was the look on Hissrad’s face as he’d stood in the cage of lightning.  While the Qunari may have shown mercy to the Inquisition soldiers Dorian had little doubt Hissrad would not be so forgiving with him should they meet again in battle.


	7. Until I See You Again

Normally the sight of Skyhold rising in the distance brought a wealth of emotions to Dorian.  Pride in what the Inquisition was accomplishing and his own small part in it.  Relief that a hot bath, a warm fire and a bottle of red were finally within sight.  Anticipation of finding out what had occurred during his absence, what new volume may have made its way into the library, or at least his own little corner of it.  Tonight however all he felt was dread. 

He had spent his time the last two days trying to decide just how to explain to the Chargers what had happened to their leader.  It’s not that the accident itself would be so hard to describe, but he had a sinking feeling the Chargers were going to be as optimistic as Evie about their fearless leader.  It would be painful to have that optimism shattered.

Approaching the gate, his mount plodding along as though as reluctant to return as the mage, Dorian debated postponing the difficult conversation until morning.  Only the knowledge that he had at best a two day head start on the rest of his party had him turning resolutely toward the tavern after handing off his horse to Master Dennet.

Opening the door to the tavern Dorian paused on the threshold, some small part of him finally uncurled, the tension in his shoulders relaxing slightly as he took in the familiar sights and sounds of the Inquisition at rest.  It was late enough that the tavern was half empty, apparently Maryden had retired for the evening already, but the fire still burned bright and Cabot was still behind the bar.  Sometimes Dorian wondered if the dour man ever slept. 

Stepping fully into the room he allowed his eyes to take in the occupants of the various tables.  Several of Cullen’s young recruits tucked into the spaces to his right, Varric and Cassandra of all people occupying one table to his left.  The dwarf raised his glass in greeting, “Sparkler!  How’d you all manage to sneak in without the fanfare?”

“Just me I’m afraid.”  Dorian managed a small smile and a clap on the shoulder for the dwarf as he walked past, shaking his head slightly the question in Varric’s eyes.  This was going to be hard enough, and the Chargers deserved to know first.

Motioning to Cabot to bring the Chargers another round Dorian headed toward the side of the tavern that was still loud with conversation.  He paused for a moment as he rounded the back of the fireplace, his eyes darting to each of Bull’s team in turn.  They all looked relaxed, pleasantly sated with drink and the company of friends who knew their stories as well as they did themselves. 

It was Krem who saw him first, the fellow Vint’s eyes narrowing in suspicion when he saw Dorian but no Bull.  Still, Krem’s voice was neutral when he spoke.  “Didn’t think we’d see all of you back so soon.”

Before Dorian could come up with a way to start explaining Cabot arrived, the table erupting in a flurry of motion and a chorus of thanks that drew a slight smile to Dorian’s face.  Sliding into the chair Bull usually occupied felt wrong, but it was the only open seat.  They had long ago stopped pulling up a separate chair for Dorian since Bull would only end up wrestling the mage into his lap before the first round was finished.  Tonight the wood felt uncomfortably cool against his backside, a far cry from Bull’s warmth.

“So, don’t keep us in suspense.  Where’s the Chief at?” Krem asked, echoed by another round of comments from the rest of the team.

_Right.  No more procrastinating.  Well, maybe one more sip of Cabot’s horrible ale._   Setting the tankard down Dorian took a deep breath, then forced himself to begin.  “The rest of the team is a day or two behind me.  There is, that is, there was an accident.  Bull was…”

“Don’t say it mage.”  Dorian was surprised to find Rocky’s deep voice the first one to interrupt and he was quick to shake his head to negate the man’s thoughts.

“No one was killed, the healers were able to heal everyone involved but Bull’s memory has been affected.  He doesn’t remember ever choosing to become The Iron Bull.”

Instead of the explosion of noise that Dorian had expected the entire group just stared at him as if waiting for a punchline.  For a moment Dorian almost laughed himself, his nerves beginning to get the better of him the longer the silence lingered.  In the end it was Stitches who broke the stalemate.  “How long?  How long is the Chief missing?”

“Five years.”

“But that means…”  “He can’t…”   “Fuck.”  “I don’t…”  “How in Andraste’s…”

Krem’s tankard slammed down on the table, quieting the rest of the team as well as spraying ale across the table.  “So if the Chief isn’t himself, what does he remember?”

Dorian took another long drink of his ale before answering.  “Being in Seheron.  Being Hissrad.”

The long hiss Bull’s lieutenant let out told Dorian he understood exactly what that mean.  Or at least enough of it to give Dorian a slightly pitying look.  “I take it there’s a reason you’re here and not there.”

Had the crowd in the tavern been any thicker it would have been impossible to hear Dorian’s reply.  “He believes that I’ve kidnapped him and used blood magic to wipe his memory.”

Only by keeping his eyes firmly on Krem was Dorian able to ignore the pity he could feel coming from the other Chargers.  The platitudes he expected never vocalized, instead he heard a low whistle come from behind him.

“Damn Sparkler, if I tried to sell that story to my editor he’d tell me to come back when I sobered up.”  Varric’s words were followed by the sound of a hand hitting flesh.

“Varric!”

“What Seeker?  I’m just saying…”

Cassandra slapped her hand over Varric’s mouth, one dark brow arching meaningfully as she glared at him until he settled.  Turning her attention to Dorian she offered him a regal nod of her head.  “We are sorry for interrupting Dorian.  I will admit that what we heard was…troubling.  Perhaps you and I could talk.”

“You were first on my list tomorrow morning Cassandra.  Perhaps we might meet with all the advisors in the war room and allow me to avoid retelling the story a dozen times.”

“Of course.”  The warrior’s eyes were compassionate but blessedly lacking pity.  “Get some rest Dorian, we will talk tomorrow.”

Dorian watched the prickly warrior push Varric toward the door, ignoring the dwarf’s pointed looks back over his shoulders.  He waited until the door closed behind the unlikely pair before turning his attention back to the table, dreading the conversation he was certain was nowhere near finished.  Before he could say a word Krem was plunking a bottle of whiskey down in front of Dorian.  “You look like you could use something stronger than ale Vint.”

With a soft, dark chuckle Dorian reached for the bottle.  “You have no idea…Vint,” he responded, taking a long pull directly from the bottle before slamming the bottle back down on the table.

The entire table erupted in cheers and Dorian shook his head slowly at the motley group before him, a small smirk crossing his lips.  Rocky was the next to grab the bottle, drinking enough that Dorian was starting to think they’d need another bottle before he passed it down to Stitches.  Krem nudged Dorian’s shoulder, gaining his attention.  “We’ll figure it all out tomorrow.  Tonight…well tonight we’ll remember for him.”

 

 

Dorian had done everything possible to smooth Hissrad’s arrival.  Without being able to exactly pinpoint the caravan’s arrival time, the advisors had cancelled training for the entire day that they were expected, citing urgent matters for both Cullen and Cassandra to attend to.  Josephine had planned a small fete for the nobles currently in attendance for the evening to discourage them rambling about the keep.  Cabot had been encouraged to let the ale flow freer than normal, although Dorian failed to see how that was possible.  The guards had been threatened with a month of mountain patrols if so much as one horn was heard when the caravan was sighted.  Instead several of Leliana’s best were positioned with the forward guards and would disperse news of the anticipated arrival to the advisors simultaneously. 

Additionally, the Chargers had decided on their own that they would take up strategic places around Skyhold to intercept any curious bystanders.  It had taken the better part of a day, and the promise from Cullen that they would be able to visit Hissrad after he was settled, before they had reluctantly agreed that the dungeon would be the safest place for their leader.  Even then Krem had requested they house Hissrad in the outer dungeon.  Leliana and Krem had argued bitterly over that one, Leliana insisting that the crumbling ruins of the exterior dungeon were neither safe from escape attempts nor indeed safe for Hissrad himself.  In the end Dorian had sided with Krem.  He knew that both Bull and Hissrad would be more comfortable bedding down in ruins than in the dank, stale air of the main dungeon.  Leliana had, with much reluctance, eventually agreed.

It was therefore, with a complete lack of fanfare and with only those who knew him best in attendance, that the Iron Bull, one of the Inquisition’s inner circle and Chief of the Bull’s Chargers, was welcomed back to Skyhold in chains and escorted directly to the dungeon.

 

 


	8. A Sign Of How Far I've Fallen

The pounding on Dorian’s door matched the one in his skull as he reluctantly cracked his eye open and accepted that whoever was out there wasn’t going to go away.  Shoving his legs into a pair of trousers he quickly tied the laces and ran his hand through his tousled hair before wrenching open the door to find Evelyn standing there.  Well, technically she was bouncing on the tips of her toes, her entire body practically vibrating with energy.  Fasta vass, did the woman never sleep?  It had been late by the time they got Hissrad settled and then…well, Dorian wasn’t certain what the Inquisitor had done then.   _He_ had proceeded to retreat to his room and drink enough to make the entire event fade from his mind.

Dorian scowled at her. “Do you know how early it is?”

“It’s almost noon Dorian,” she chirped, entirely too pleased with herself as she slid past him, hesitating only long enough to drop a kiss to his cheek before settling herself into his favorite chair.  Accepting that she was obviously not planning on leaving anytime soon he let the door fall closed and grabbed for a clean tunic before sparking up a fire.

Settling into the chair opposite her Dorian finally noticed the stack of papers in her hand.  To be honest they were hard to miss as she continued to fidget even after sitting, causing the pages to crinkle loudly.  “Dare I ask what has you so worked up this morning?”

The smile she gave him was stunning.  “I think I found something that will help Dorian.  I was going over paperwork last night and look, just look.”

As if he could see anything with how close she thrust the papers to him.  Taking them from her carefully, Dorian looked down.  He was startled to see Bull’s looping script describing Venatori movements through the Hinterlands.  Shuffling to the next page it contained Red Templar troop movements in Emprise Du Lion, including a hand-drawn map of the area with notes in a different script of camp and supply locations.  “What is this exactly?”

“You recognize the writing right?”

“Bull’s script is hard to miss, but the one on the map…”

“Not sure exactly who that was.  One of Bull’s Ben-Hassrath connections.  But Dorian, don’t you see, this proves he’s been providing us with information.  Notes from his own hand that prove he’s been here in the south for some time, it has to help right?”

“I don’t see how it could hurt.  At the very least it should fill in some of the gaps for him,” Dorian admitted, handing her back the paperwork.

He knew what she was going to say from the way her expression softened.  “Do you want to go with me?”

Such a loaded question that one.  Of course he _wanted_ to be there.  If it would help he’d have his entire nook transferred down there.  But what he wanted wasn’t what Bull needed and damn if that didn’t hurt.  “Best not Evie.”

“Alright then,” she agreed quickly, as if she’d known his answer but still had to ask.  She stood and waited for him to follow suit before heading for the door.  “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

Dorian was startled when Evie wrapped him in a tight hug and pressed another kiss to his cheek before leaving.  He watched her hurry down the hall, her bouncing step drawing a small smile to his lips.  She really was a force of nature.

 

 

Hissrad sat in the corner of the cell and watched the clouds float over the mountains, the stark white a perfect contrast to the pale blue sky and so different from the jungle environment he knew that for a moment he could almost forget he was looking at it through bars.  His mind told him that they had only given him the one cell that offered a view to soften him up, to convince him that they cared about his well-being.  The dangerous thing was that he wasn’t certain at the moment that it mattered.

No.  He would not be lulled.  He had successfully resisted torture by enemies in the past, both physical and mental.  Had been cut open with such skill that he could still see the blood moving through the veins that were exposed and beaten with such ferocity that he had spit blood for weeks.  He had faced altered mental states caused by sleep deprivation, hunger, thirst and a whole host of poisons and emerged stronger for it.  He would not be beaten by kindness.

Which is why when the Inquisitor arrived that morning she found him staring not out at the world but seated on the other side of the cell, his attention on the bricks that made up his prison.  He would have ignored her entirely had she not smelled of the Mage.  It made him wonder what new trick they were up to.

“Good morning Hissrad.”

“Inquisitor.”

“I have some papers I’d like you to look at.  I think they might help your memory.”

Ah, so it was to be the same sad tale.  He supposed he could play along.  “And why would that be?”

“Just look,” she insisted, stepping just close enough that he could reach the end of the paper but not quite within reach herself.  So, apparently she had learned a lesson.

Settling back down he slouched against the wall in a complete pose of dismissal and looked down only to straighten in a hurry.  It couldn’t be.  Shuffling through the pages quickly it appeared that it was but only if…he went back to the first page and counted to the fourth ‘e’.  There it was, the slight upward tick at the bottom of the letter.  The seventh ‘H’ where the curve didn’t connect to the straight line.  The ninth‘s’ that had a tiny dot hovering above it, almost unnoticeable.  He moved through all of the pages, still ignoring the content for now and every one of them was authentic. 

Turning back to the first page he saw detailed reports that made no sense to him.  He had never heard of the Venatori, were they some odd southern cult?  The next page again made little sense.  Templars he had dealt with of course, toothless guardians from Tevinter.  He had heard that those in the south had a stronger bite through using lyrium but what in Koslun’s name was _red_ lyrium.

Continuing through the rest of the pages he learned that whoever the Red Templars were they had established a base in the Storm Coast with the hopes of spreading their influence throughout all of Thedas.  And apparently the Venatori had something to do with Tevinter, leave it to the fucking Vints to decide war with his people wasn’t enough and attack the rest of the known world.

Hissrad stilled instantly.  Hadn’t he just told himself whatever the woman before him said was a lie and now he was buying into her illusions.  Although, while they could have forced him to write the reports he now held, they wouldn’t know to look for the secret tells he included to prove the writing was authentically his.  Unless they had broken him down that far.  Veshedan, was there any part of him they hadn’t ruined?  Any part of him he could still trust?

Schooling his face into a mask of indifference he reached out to pass the paperwork back through the bars.  “Nice try Inquisitor but you’ll have to let the Mage know he needs to do better.”

“But Bull…Hissrad.  You know this is your writing, I could see it on your face.  What can we do to convince you…”

“You have convinced me of much.  And once I am free I shall make certain the Re-Educators are informed about the depth of the taint you have placed on me.  Ataash varin kata.  Anaan esaam Qun.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You shall not break me again.  In the end lies glory.  Victory is in the Qun.”


	9. Asit Tal-eb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because this chapter is so short I'm posting two today. Happy Friday bonus!!!

Hissrad was laying on his pallet, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the prisoners moving about in the other room.  From what he could tell there were at least three prisoners and one guard.  He could hear cloth rustling intermittently, probably one of the prisoners turning over on his bed roll.  Another he thought might be writing something, if he was correct and the sound was a quill to paper.  The position of the third prisoner was not as easy to determine, only the occasional cough told Bull there was someone there as it came from the opposite side of the room from the other two prisoners.  The guard was easy, the metal scrape of boot against stone, heavier on the one side as though he favored the opposite leg.  Soon the scraping sound faded then was picked back up with a second set of boots, the new pair evenly matched. 

Opening his eye he knew from the flow of light into the cell that it was too early for shift change.  Visitor then.  Not the Inquisitor, she wore leather.  The Mage too.  He huffed softly, and closed his eye again.  It was perhaps vain to believe the visitor was meant for him but so far he’d seen no sign of the other prisoners having any contact with anyone other than the guards.

As if to back-up his thoughts the door opened and both sets of boots continued the trail to right outside his cell.  Immediately the original set, belonging to the guard made the trek back the other way, the heavy wooden door sliding shut behind him.  Hissrad remained where he was, waiting to see what the visitor would do.

Silence stretched out.  If he hadn’t known someone was there he would have believed himself to be alone.  Not one shift from the person waiting.  No huff of frustration, no deep sighing breath.  It was tempting to see just how long the visitor would stand there, but perhaps even more tempting was to know what new game the Mage was playing.  Cracking open his eye Hissrad finally muttered, “Something I can help you with?”

“Just thought you might want to know what happened to that eye of yours, but if you’re not interested.”

“Another ‘Vint?  Wondered where the Mage was hiding all of you,” Hissrad admitted as he sat up and faced the man before him.  Warrior type, full plate and a maul he’d have thought too large for the man but he didn’t seem to have any trouble with it strapped to his back so Hissrad had to assume he was stronger than he looked.  Didn’t have a problem looking Hissrad right in the eye so doubtful he was a freed slave and no true slave would have a weapon on him, let alone the armor.  Soporati then.

“Yeah, ‘Vint is right.  But I'm not sure Dorian and I constitute an 'all'.  Name’s Cremisius Aclassi.”

“How is it you know about the eye?”

“I’d ask if you have time for a story but…” the ‘Vint broke off only long enough to run his eyes over Hissrad’s cell before shrugging.  “I’ll assume you have time.  So, I was in a broken down bar…”

The ‘Vint told his tale and Hissrad watched for any sign that would point to the man lying.  At least that’s how it started.  But sometime after the ‘Vint admitted that he was aqun-athlok, how exactly a ‘Vint had come to know that term he wasn’t sure, and before them escaping with him less one eye Hissrad found himself losing himself in another memory.

 

He had only been in Seheron two years at the time.  Long enough to have learned that the seas would run red with ‘Vint blood in August and that only a dead man stayed out in the open when the fog started to roll in.  He had received orders to track down a Tal-Vashoth, more specifically, a Tallis.  His superiors were adamant that Hissrad apprehend the man and return him to the Re-Educators.

It had taken the better part of a month to track the assassin down to Alum, but in the end Hissrad found him hiding with several other Tal-Vashoth including a Saarebas who had been functioning without an Arvaarad.  The fighting had been fierce and by the time the battle was through only the Sarrebas and the Tallis were left alive, and the Tallis had lost his hand to Hissrad’s axe.

Only after returning to Seheron with his prisoners in tow did Hissrad learn that the Tallis had been deep undercover, his mission to recover the Saarebas.  He had fought Hissrad as fiercely as any Tal-Vashoth and had paid the price with his own body.  When Hissrad had encountered the man on the streets of Seheron later he had been uncomfortable, uncertain if the man would expect retribution for the devastating wound.  Instead he had said one thing only.  Asit tal-eb. 

Asit tal-eb.  The way things are meant to be.  Listening to the ‘Vint tell his tale Hissrad could only think of that Tallis and wonder, if the man had been willing to give up a hand would he do any less?  Was an eye too high a price to pay for his people?

 

“What are you thinking Chief?”

Hissrad’s attention was snapped back to the ‘Vint.  “Chief?”

“It’s what we call you.  The Chargers.  Dalish.  Stitches.  Rocky and Grim.  Skinner.” 

It was obvious the man was expecting those names to mean something to him.  Hissrad just shook his head slowly, the ‘Vint’s expression darkening.  “Sorry, not ringing a bell Kreme puff.”

“Chief?” The ‘Vint’s expression picked up even as Hissrad’s soured.  Veshedan!  What was that?  There was some foggy part of his mind that almost wanted to clear before fading again.

Shaking his head Hissrad allowed his attention to drift from the ‘Vint before him.  “My name is Hissrad.  And we are through.”

 

 


	10. Dreams and Memories

It’s the silence that wakes him.  Even in the darkest hours of the night a keep as large as Skyhold is always in motion.  The bakers pounding dough into submission, the late night tavern crowd stumbling to their rooms, the guards on their never-ending patrols.  But even now that he is conscious all that Dorian hears is silence.

His frown starts as he reaches for his robe and, by the time he has slid his feet into boots he doesn’t bother to lace, his heart is pounding.  The hallway outside his room is normally quiet so that isn’t cause for alarm, but the fact that the door leading to the courtyard is ajar is.  No one leaves that door open, it causes the wind to whistle down the hallway in an annoying fashion and drops the temperature to freezing.

Still buckling his straps Dorian hurries toward the open door only to lose precious seconds when he realizes he’s forgotten his staff.  Cursing at himself, he backtracks to retrieve it before striding quickly back toward the courtyard.  He isn’t running, that would give too much credence to the shivers that are coursing down his spine, but it’s close. 

Cautiously pushing open the door he breathes out a huff at finding nothing suspicious and almost convinces himself it’s all in his mind.  But that little ball of dread in the pit of his stomach has him heading for the door to the Great Hall.  He tells himself that if nothing is amiss there he’ll return to his room, relieved and just a little bit ashamed for allowing his fears to get the better of him.

He’s already chuckling a little at his own foolishness as he pushes open the door and freezes.  The floor could be carved from bloodstone it is so red, Varric’s fire reflecting off the thickening liquid.  Then the smell reaches him, iron and earth and just a hint of sweetness, it’s enough to have him retching onto the stone beside him.

Now he wishes he could return to his room, bury his head beneath the pillows and forget he ever saw this.  The nobles, the damn nobles who never seem to sleep but now will never wake again.  Bodies had fallen where they stood, cleaved almost in two.  Varric, oh sweet Andraste, Varric had obviously been taken by surprise, his hand resting on Bianca but no shot had been fired before he’d been brought down.

Even knowing Evie should be his next stop Dorian’s feet turned the other direction, his steps now cautious and slow as he avoids as much blood as he can but still ends up trailing tracks down the stairs outside the hall.  His eyes don’t miss the bodies strewn here, guard armor shining in the moonlight.  The night patrols Dorian hadn’t heard, bodies lying slumped at the bottom of the stairs, a pair of them near the gate. 

He wished he could believe the threat had come from outside Skyhold, some small retinue of Red Templars maybe.  But any doubt about responsibility is removed when he finds the door to the dungeon wedged open by the body of the overnight guard, her eyes still wide with terror.  Less cautious now Dorian rushes down the stairs, staff ready in one hand as he enters the dungeon proper. 

He could say he’s surprised to see the prisoners still alive in their cells but he’s not.  Hissrad could have seen the nobles in the keep as potential enemies but these men, locked behind bars would pose him no threat.  They stare at him, and for a moment he thinks Servis may say something but the man just smirks and lays back down. 

Even though he knows what he will find Dorian crosses to the last door standing between denial and admitting the man he loved had just slaughtered half of Skyhold.  Even knowing what he will find his knees go weak at the sight of the open cell.  His cry of denial and grief is so loud he is surprised the keep still stands.  He has failed them. 

He has failed them all.

 

 

The scream was still on his lips when Dorian woke, his body covered in sweat, heart nearly pounding out of his chest.  Venhedis.  He wiped a trembling hand over his face, for once not caring about the condition of his mustache.  He knew it had to be a dream and closing his eyes he could hear laughter coming from outside his room, muffled but still there.  A dream, definitely a dream.

Still, his heart would not calm nor his limbs stop trembling.  Springing from the bed to grab the robes he’d discarded only a few hours earlier he quickly slipped his feet into his boots, stilling for a moment as dream memories of performing the same action caused a shiver to course down his spine.  If asked, he would tell you that tying the laces tightly didn’t take much additional time.

Hurrying through the keep, his mind was less here in the physical than still lost in his nightmare.  He half expected to find the floors tacky with blood when he entered the Great Hall but fortunately all he encountered were a handful of inebriated Orlesians and one very confused dwarf.  Ignoring Varric’s startled wave of greeting Dorian hurried out the front entrance and down the stairs, part of him already braced to find the dungeon door open.   He released a relieved breath when it was firmly closed, though it was not enough reassurance to send him back to his room.  Instead, he opened the door and hurried down the stairs.

In his haste he startled the night guard, the poor man rounding on him, his sword already half pulled from its scabbard before relaxing again.  “Messere?”

“Ignore me,” Dorian muttered, surprised to find himself winded.  Just how quickly had he moved through the keep?

When the soldier continued to frown in his direction, apparently late night visits of prisoners was not a common occurrence, Dorian added.  “Just checking on Bull.”

“Of course Messere,” the soldier agreed, though his expression said he had no clue why Dorian would be checking in on a prisoner in the dead of night.  Still, he stood down and returned to rest a shoulder against the pillar next to him as Dorian moved past him.

Opening the last door between he and his lover, Dorian sighed in relief to see not only Bull’s cell door shut but also the outline of the large Qunari stretched out on the ground.  Dorian stepped through the doorway and let the door fall shut behind him, the tension leaving his body in a rush that had him sliding down the door the moment it shut. 

Sitting with his knees raised before him, his arms balanced on them and staff firmly gripped with both hands he dropped his head down to rest on his arms and allowed his breathing to return to normal.  Raising his head he was surprised to find the Qunari still apparently asleep. Part of him had expected, kaffas, he wasn’t sure what he expected.  For the man to be attempting to escape right this moment?  For him to _know_ that Dorian had snuck into the room?  For him to be watching him with that horrible accusing look he favored Dorian with now?

This was ridiculous.  He was letting his own fears and concerns get the better of him.  He was an Altus of House Pavus, one did not simple run pell-mell through a keep in the dead of night because of a _dream_.  He told himself to stand up, pull as many shreds of his dignity together as he could and return to his room.  Instead, he found himself standing, but only so that he could move closer to his lover.  The soft sounds of Bull’s breathing bringing some semblance of peace to his aching heart.

Maybe just for a moment.  Settling himself on the opposite side of the stone wall that separated the two cells Dorian leaned his head back against the cold stone and listened to his lover breathe.  His own breath subtly shifting to match the pattern as he remembered that last morning they had spent together, remembered how the word had fallen from his lover’s lips.  Kadan.


	11. Remember and Forget

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters for you all today since I was unable to post over the weekend. (That pesky RL does get in the way sometimes.) You'll have to forgive me, should be back to daily posts again after this :)

Dorian woke with the changing of the guard.  He knew that the guards were whispering about him already, and he could hardly blame them.  Who chose to sleep outside in the freezing cold just to remain near someone who couldn’t stand them? 

Apparently him.  At least he had found himself bedding down out here in the same sheltered alcove for the last three nights.  Not even in view of his lover, just close enough to convince the nightmares to leave him alone.  He had tried the second night to sleep in his own bed but when the same devastating nightmare had driven him back down to check on Hissrad he’d given up.  Last night he had just made his way here when he had finally exhausted himself with research and sought sleep.

Peering around the corner he found Hissrad still sleeping and allowed himself a moment to just watch his lover.  The effects of being locked up were evident on Hissrad’s face, the way that even asleep he looked tired.  And there was no doubting he was thinner already, prompting Dorian to make an inquiry about what exactly the kitchens were providing him.

Not daring to tarry any longer Dorian raised the hood on his cloak and hurried through the door to the inner dungeon.  Not that he was fooling anyone concerning his identity, but he refused to let his pain be fodder for the rumor mill.  It had been bad enough when the entire keep whispered about his practicing blood magic, but to be the subject of keep-wide pity.  Fasta vass.  No.

 

 

Hissrad floated for a moment in that strange land between sleep and awareness and for one brief moment felt as though he had someone with him.  The smell of cinnamon and spice, a hint of embrium on copper skin.  The feel of a body pressed against him, the hard jut of a man’s hip, the silky texture of hair rubbing against his chest, the pounding of another heart against his skin.  And then, the slam of a door and it was gone. 

An involuntary groan was pulled from him as he ran his hand over his face.  Damned memories.  Not that he could remember ever having a lover that fit him exactly like the man he’d just been imagining.  Another thing taken from him?

“Not taken The Iron Bull, lost.  But don’t worry, you can still find them.”

Hissrad startled at the softly spoken words.  Sitting up quickly he looked to find an odd man sitting outside his cell.  Perhaps boy was a more correct term, the lad barely looked over the age of majority.  But he could be mistaken, it was difficult to see the boy clearly from under the brim of a ridiculously oversized hat.  Hissrad was slightly surprised to see that the man was leaning against the bars, apparently not concerned with Hissrad causing him harm.  “Who are you boy?”

“I’m Cole, The Iron Bull.  But you won’t remember.”

Hissrad growled at that.  Another associate of the Mage’s then.  For an Altus the man certainly kept an odd group of acquaintances.  And this one brazen enough to taught him with removing his memories.  “I am not The Iron Bull.”

“But you are,” the boy insisted.  “You have just forgotten.  I used to forget but Varric has helped me to remember the things that I did.  Do you need help to remember The Iron Bull?”

Hissrad was fearful of just what sort of ‘help’ the boy could offer.  He had little doubt it would be painful and only serve to assist the Mage in the long run.

“Dorian does not seek to harm you,” the boy argued with a shake of his head.  “He sleeps here, close but not close enough.  Wanting to comfort but not wanting to harm.”

“What do you mean ‘he sleeps here’?”  Hissrad practically roared.  He couldn’t possibly…

The boy didn’t so much as flinch in the wake of Hissrad’s anger, if anything he looked even more sympathetic.  “He hurts too.  Two hearts together but not.  Hate confuses and obscures.  So he hides but he listens.”

Hissrad’s growl was of frustration this time.  Listening to the boy was like trying to make sense of the Tal-Vashoth, impossible to do with any degree of logic.  Still, if he was hearing what he thought he was hearing it meant that the Mage had been watching him as he slept?  What possible reason could the Mage have for…

“You dream the same.  Nightmares.  Memories of what was and what could be.  He takes it away.  From you and from him.  He makes it not hurt so much.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hissrad realized for the first time the boy was answering questions he had not spoken.  “What are you?”

“I am causing you pain.  I should go,” the boy stared at him pityingly for a moment before continuing.  “It is alright The Iron Bull, you will not remember.”

 

Hissrad frowned as he stared at the stone walls of his cell.  He had that annoying feeling of something being just beyond his reach, some memory or thought he couldn’t quite focus on.  Shaking his head he grumbled when his horn raked across the bars of his cell.  He needed to get out of here and soon.  All of this lost time was beginning to get to him.


	12. Unpopular Choices

“You can’t keep doing this Dorian.”

Dorian startled, dropping the book he was holding into his lap as he looked up to find the Inquisitor staring critically at him from the stairs.  “What exactly is it you object to Evie?  My stunning good looks or unparalleled research abilities?”

“You falling asleep in the library because you spent all night watching over Bull again.”

Ah yes, that one.  Sometimes he really wished Evelyn had learned the subtle art of dissembling information.  But no, with her it was always straight forward and so damnably hard to avoid.  “It’s been three weeks Evie and he’s not getting any better.  Kaffas, we’ve been back in Skyhold for a week already and the only hope has been him insulting Krem.  What am I supposed to do?”

“I know its hard Dorian but you can’t keep sleeping out in the cold.  It’s not…”

“So it’s good enough for him but not for me?”

“Dorian…”

“He’s not a criminal Evie, how long are we going to keep him locked up?”

“What option do we have Dorian?  Turn him loose and wait for him to hunt you down?  Return him to Par Vollen?”

A week ago he would have agreed with her but now, after listening to Hissrad call out in the middle of the night, his voice hoarse with anger and frustration, Dorian paused to consider her words.  It felt like quitting, something he’d known too much of in his life.  The circle.  His father.  Alexius.  He didn’t want Bull to be just another thing he gave up on, something that he walked away from when it got too hard or too awkward. 

But was remaining in Skyhold, forced to endure an endless parade of former friends turned strangers, really what was in Bull’s best interest?  Hissrad certainly didn’t want it and Dorian couldn’t even be certain it was what he needed.  Fasta vass, was he really going to say this.  “Maybe it’s something we need to consider.”

Evelyn’s eyes went wide, her jaw dropping open in a quite unattractive way before she started that tsking thing she did when she was mulling something over.  “I assume you mean returning him to Par Vollen rather than turning Skyhold into his own personal ‘Vint hunting grounds.”

Dorian just arched one brow at her.

“Of course you mean returning him,” she repeated, finishing her climb up the stairs to pull up a chair from a nearby table and plop herself down on it.  When her eyes finally met his Dorian knew that she too was truly considering the action.  “You know what they’ll do to him.”

“Re-educate him without a doubt,” Dorian admitted, choking on the first word before the rest tumbled from his lips in an undignified hurry.  “It’s what Hissrad wants Evie, even knowing the methods they’ll use and I, I just can’t be certain there’s enough of Bull still in there to justify denying him.”

There he’d said it.  He felt like his heart was going to break into a million pieces and he was fairly certain that if they actually followed through on this horrible, horrible plan he would insist upon being the one to travel with Hissrad at least as far as Llomerryn.  Where he went from there would be up to fate, but he certainly wouldn’t be able to remain in Skyhold.  Call it running away again if needed, but he wouldn’t be chained to a place where he had truly been happy for the first time in his life.

“If you’re sure Dorian, I’ll call the advisors together to discuss it.  In the meantime, promise me you’ll sleep in your own bed tonight…please.  You’re no good to him if you’re worn out and sleep deprived.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how much good he was to Hissrad regardless.  Fasta vass, he was actually advocating turning his lover over to the re-educators.  Still, he found himself agreeing with Evelyn, even promising not to work deep into the night.  She left him contemplating the benefits of a long bath followed by that bottle of Antivan red Emile had seen fit to leave behind in Dorian’s quarters when he’d continued his journey to Val Royeaux.  

It would serve his old friend right for deserting Dorian in his time of need.  Not that Emile knew of course, he had been away from Skyhold for over a week before Dorian and Bull’s unexpected return, and was in fact due to return in the next few days.  That thought at least brought a small smile to Dorian’s face.  Perhaps they could hold off on a decision about Bull until then and see if Emile had any new thoughts to bring to the table. 

Alright, so maybe Evelyn had been correct.  A bath, drinks and a good night sleep and maybe things wouldn’t look quite so dire.  Picking his book up from where it had fallen in his lap he told himself he’d go just as soon as he finished with this chapter.

 

 

Hissrad listened to the midnight guard change in the other room, the tall human with a limp being replaced by someone who walked much lighter, even in the heavy armor all the guards wore.  A woman most likely, perhaps the redhead that tended to not even come all the way out to check on him, she typically just looked out through the barred window in the door and called it good.  Part of Hissrad hoped it was her, he had gotten in the habit of sleeping with his head occupying the corner of the cell she could always see which meant that when she finally got around to looking out the window and didn’t see him she’d get curious.  And curious could just get him out of here.

Looking at the ticks he’d marked on the floor with a stone he knew it had been about an hour and a half since the tall blond human had come out to check on him, so regardless of which female was coming on shift it shouldn’t be more than a half hour until she made her rounds.  Moving deeper into the cell, out of sight from the door, he was counting on the almost black moon to provide him extra cover. 

Still as a statue he stood, resisting the urge to smile when he heard the soft curse fall from feminine lips only a moment before the door creaked open followed by the sound of hurrying feet.  It would seem Koslun smiled on him tonight.


	13. Nothing Makes Sense

Hissrad opened the door at the top of the stairs cautiously.  There was no reason to expect anyone to be watching the dungeon from the outside, certainly there hadn’t been the night they’d brought him in, but he hadn’t made it this far from being careless.  Assuming he could avoid the guards scattered around the keep, he had almost seven hours before the guard he’d left stashed in his cell would be found.  That would be plenty of time to put some distance between himself and the Mage.

Slipping out the door and letting it close quietly behind him he took in his surroundings.  Tall staircase to his left leading to the main keep, probably still occupied judging from the light pouring out of it as far as the landing.  A darkened room to the right and another occupied building just opposite it.  A sign hung above that one stating ‘Herald’s Rest’ which he assumed to be a tavern of some sort, perhaps an inn.  The battlements ran uninterrupted in the distance as far as he could see.

He remembered coming up a lower staircase when he was brought in the week before and it was that direction he turned to head when he was brought up short by the sudden appearance of a dwarf on the lighted landing.  He was already calculating the distance between them, even with the bum knee he thought he could reach the man before he could get back into the keep but not if the dwarf chose to shout out.  Hissrad had the guard’s sword strapped to him but without a dagger or bow there really wasn’t a way to take the man down from a distance.  His mind was still playing through possible scenarios, none of them looking good for him when the dwarf broke the silence.  “Tiny?”

In an instant, the courtyard disappeared and he was sitting in a tavern, his mind told him it was the Herald’s Rest he had just noted.  The dwarf along with the Inquisitor, the blond elf, Sera, and several other humans he couldn’t name but apparently knew were gathered drinking.  The Mage of all people was leaning against his shoulder, blatantly looking at his cards.  There was a roar of laughter, something said by the blond man sitting with the Inquisitor, his mind could almost…

And then it was gone and Hissrad was back in the courtyard, but now the dwarf was two steps further away and looking a whole lot more confused.  He’d never reach the dwarf in time now, his only hope was to make his escape before the man alerted the guards.  Hissrad’s hand remained on the pommel of the sword, his attention darting from the stairs down that lead to freedom and the stairs up to the man who was his only threat.  The dwarf raised his bare hands, holding them out in front of him in a placating gesture, his mouth opened to…Hissrad sprang into movement.  His decision made he lunged for the lower staircase, clearing the steps three at a time as his attention moved forward to the gate and the bridge beyond.  Freedom lay only a few hundred yards away yet something in him was urging caution. A gate meant guards and Hissrad couldn’t hope to escape an entire contingent of soldiers on foot.  Turning instead to the left again he headed toward the stable.  He’d mount up and then…

He hesitated before opening the door, his hands suddenly trembling.  Veshedan, how had he known these were stables?  No animals were visible from the foot of the stairs, he shouldn’t have been able to…

“Hello?  Anyone out there?”

Fuck.  Blackwall.  Stumbling away from the door Hissrad had a vision of a tall dark-haired human, a full, dark beard covering most of his face.  The swing of a short sword, the clash of a round shield, a rearing lion raised on it.  A rich, deep laugh and twinkling eyes muttering about there being other ways to keep warm on a cold night.

Shaking his head, Hissrad backed into the shadows, as he looked up at the battlements as a possible escape route.  Information flooded his mind, foremost the fact that there was no section of battlement from which a fall was survivable.  The gate provided the only exit from the keep, he would have to take his chances there.  Moving silently between the stone wall and several wooden stalls Hissrad considered the best way to assault the gate.  He could see the two guards, one on either side of an elevated walk but something told him there were more guards hidden within shouting distance.  Perhaps facing the man in the stables, Blackwall, was a better option, on horseback he had a better chance of powering through.

He had almost decided to return to the stable when he noticed a second staircase.  It passed right next to the gate guardhouse but if he was quiet it would be dark and easily accessed at this time of night.  He could see it led to the upper level of the keep courtyard, which should have made him dismiss it.  He needed out of the keep, not to head deeper into it.  And yet, something in him was demanding he proceed that direction.  Even knowing there should be nothing for him within these stone walls he found himself already moving that way. 

He checked the position of the moon, his mind helpfully providing the most likely location of night sentries.  Keeping to the shadows he moved up a second set of stairs, ending at the top of a section of the battlement that provided access to two different rooms.  The one to his left held no appeal, a brief flash of golden eyes and blond hair going through his mind.  Crouching he kept to the inner side of the battlement, moving from merlon to merlon quickly until he stood at last before the door that had attracted him. 

Quietly opening the door he was prepared to encounter a sleeping occupant, but unexpectedly, the room was empty.  He quickly slipped inside and let the door fall closed behind him.  At first glance there was nothing special about the room.  Noting the stars visible from the crumbled corner and the broken beams that had once marked a second floor he assumed it had once been part of the guard barracks but now only the first floor was left.  A bed made up with sheets and blankets, a nightstand sitting beside it and a dresser that had obviously seen better days were at odds to the ornately tufted chair and a gilded mirror that hung over the dresser. 

Of less concern to Hissrad than the contents of the room were the feelings they were invoking, the sense of rightness that was slowly stealing over him, the feeling...

No.  He was Hissrad.  He operated from a point of logic and reason.  He studied patterns and learned trends.  He gave people what they wanted in order to take what he needed.  Crossing to the dresser he studied the array of objects laying there.  A wash basin.  A straight razor.  An ornate bottle of some liquid.  Horn balm.

It made no sense.  These objects made no sense.  And yet he could not deny they felt like…veshedan, they felt like _home_.


	14. I Don't Know Anymore

Dorian released a soft sigh as his hands moved over his calf, conscientiously applying the lotion to every inch of skin.  As much as he loathed to admit it to himself, Evelyn had been right.  It wasn’t that the situation with Hissrad looked any rosier at the moment, but he had needed to take some time to make himself feel, well more like himself.  Now, bathed, groomed properly and feeling delightfully warm from the Antivan red he had decided to treat himself to while lazing in the bath he felt like perhaps he could actually sleep tonight.

Setting the lotion down on his dresser he was just turning towards his bed when his door was almost pounded off its hinges, accompanied by a coarsely shouted, “Sparkler!"

Venhedis!  There went all his hard won relaxation, tension immediately pooling at the base of his skull and stretching to spread through his shoulders.  Reaching for a clean robe he paused only long enough to fasten the top buckle before opening the door to a frantic looking Varric.  “Thank the Maker.  Sparkler, he’s loose.”

“Fasta vass, where?” Dorian asked, hand already reaching for his staff as he turned to search for his boots.

“I ran into him outside the Great Hall and he led me on a merry chase around Skyhold.  Something is off Sparkler, he seemed, I don’t know.  One minute I thought he was going to kill me and then he took off running.  When I finally saw him heading towards his room I took a chance he’d be there awhile and came after you.”

By the time Varric finished speaking Dorian had slipped on his boots and they were already pushing open the door to the courtyard, both of them pausing to look up at the crumbling tower Bull had chosen for his own.  As one their gazes turned to the tavern.  “I’ll head to his room, you had better get over to the tavern.  Make certain he doesn’t end up there.  I fear for…well, just don’t let him into the tavern.”

Varric’s somber nod was enough to have Dorian flying across the courtyard and up the battlements.  He paused for only a second before opening the door to Bull’s room, the lack of noise from inside turning his blood cold at the thought of his lover having already been here and gone.  It was with a relieved sigh he entered the room to find Hissrad standing at his dresser, his look of utter confusion, evident even from what little Dorian could see of his face, was almost enough to take Dorian to his knees.

Slipping inside before quietly closing the door Dorian quietly asked, “Hissrad?”

Dorian watched Hissrad’s spine stiffen but the Qunari didn’t turn to look at him.  Instead he turned fully away from Dorian, his hands reaching out to grab ahold of either side of the dresser so tightly that Dorian heard wood snap.  The words, when they finally came, were low and threatening, “What have you done to me?”

“I haven’t done…”

“Don’t lie to me!”  Hissrad growled.  Then, in an explosion of movement, Hissrad swept one hand over the dresser, sending the contents flying against the wall in the corner of the room where the bottle shattered to rain oil and glass over the floor.  Hissrad’s arm fell heavily back against the now bare dresser, as though the one movement had cost him.  “What is this place?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Dorian dared taunt, only to rethink the decision when a slight shudder ran through the Qunari and without a word he spun, pinning Dorian with a piercing stare. 

“It is…was…mine.”

“Yes.” 

For a long moment neither of them moved, then Dorian saw Hissrad’s nostrils flare and suddenly the warrior was across the room, so close that Dorian could feel Hissrad’s breath against his neck but not quite touching.  It had happened so quickly Dorian had no chance to even bring his staff up in defense, realizing in this moment Hissrad had the advantage, he could tear out Dorian’s throat before he had time to cast a spell. 

The seconds ticked out, Dorian sure that each breath would be his last until finally Hissrad dropped his head slightly, his nose pressing to the hollow of Dorian’s throat as he breathed in deeply.  His words were hot against Dorian's skin.  “You, you were mine?”

Dorian had to swallow past the lump in his throat before he could answer.  “Yes.”

When another shudder shook the huge Qunari Dorian dared ask, “Bull?”

Hissrad’s head jerked up, one horn almost clipping Dorian in the head.  The eye that regarded him showed none of the confidence of the Ben-Hassrath spy nor his lover.  “I…I don’t know.”

Without another word the warrior fell to his knees, his hands reaching up to press at his own temples.  Instinctively, Dorian reached out to scratch at the sensitive skin around Bull’s horns, swallowing several times before managing to get his voice under control enough to ask, “What do you remember?”

“Bits, pieces.  I know this place…these things.”  Bull broke off, leaning forward enough to rest his forehead against Dorian’s stomach, only to breathe in deeply again.  “I know you, your smell.  I know how your body feels pressed against mine, how you fit in my arms, the feel of your hair through my fingers but I don’t remember _you_.”

The absolute despair Dorian heard in that last word was enough to have his eyes moistening.  “Shhhh, Amatus, it will come back.  I know it will.”

The term of endearment tore another shiver from the Qunari and for a time nothing more was said as they clung to each other, oblivious to Varric opening the door only long enough to see that the situation was apparently under control before closing the door securely and heading off to appraise the Inquisitor of the evening’s excitement.

 

 

Unaware that news of Hissrad’s escape was beginning to spread through the keep the warrior finally pulled away from Dorian with a soft sigh and a slightly embarrassed run of his hand over his face.  “I know that word you called me, I’ve heard it before.”

Wiping the back of his hand over his own eyes Dorian snorted.  “I should think so Amatus.  Come, your knee won’t be pleased with you for subjecting it to the stone floor for so long.”

“How long?  How long have I known you?” 

“Over a year, although we have been lovers for only a little over half of that,” Dorian admitted, helping Bull to his feet before leading him toward the bed.

“So everything you told me,” Bull started, his feet stumbling to a stop as his face went pale.  “Veshedan, I tried to…”

Dorian shook his head.  “No, no more tonight.  You need sleep, in a real bed.  We’ll see what else you remember tomorrow.”

Bull was as quiet as he was pliant, allowing Dorian to push him back to sit on the edge of the bed so that Dorian could remove his boots before moving to the middle of the bed at Dorian’s urging.  The mage removed Bull’s belt and dropped it to the floor next to him but decided to leave the pants alone for the time being.  Only when he would have moved off the bed himself did Bull finally struggle, grabbing onto Dorian’s arm so tightly he was certain there would be bruises.  “Stay…please.”

“As you wish Amatus,” Dorian agreed, hesitating only long enough to toe off his own boots before allowing Bull to pull him up next to him, his head fitting into Bull’s shoulder.  Dorian’s sigh was shadowed by a similar sound from Bull.

“I dreamt of this, of the feel of you against me.”  Bull’s voice was so soft Dorian almost missed the words entirely as the large man worked his fingers through Dorian’s hair.  “How is it I knew your hair would feel like silk but I can’t remember ever touching you before?”

“It is enough that you’re touching me now,” Dorian whispered, pressing a soft kiss against Bull’s skin before falling silent. 

It wasn’t long before Bull’s hand stilled against his hair and with a reluctant sigh Dorian untangled himself from his lover, his own mind still running.  With a flick of his wrist he set the fire to blazing in the fireplace, comfortable using his magic only now that Bull was asleep.  As relieved as he was to apparently have some version of his Bull back with him he found himself unable to trust that it would last. 

Pacing quietly he told himself he was being foolish, that if this was just some ploy of Hissrad’s he’d have already snapped Dorian’s neck and been done with it.  But he hadn’t escaped his father’s plans for him by being the type to stick his head in the sand.  Which is why as much as he’d love to lose himself in his lover’s arms Dorian instead settled himself down in the armchair next to the fireplace, his staff within easy reach.


	15. Prisoner In A Gilded Cage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, this chapter is much longer than I normal prefer but I just couldn't decide on a dividing line in here. Hopefully it will keep you attention and you'll forgive the boys for being long-winded.

Dorian woke up to a crick in his neck and a boulder on his knee.  He frowned even before he opened his eyes, he thought he could understand the crick, he was fairly certain he’d fallen asleep in the chair in Bull’s…Dorian’s eyes flew open to see that it was Bull’s head not a rock lying against his leg. 

He couldn’t believe Bull got up at some point in the night and he hadn’t even noticed.  At least he supposed he had his answer about the night before just being a ploy of Hissrad’s.  If it had been, certainly Dorian wouldn’t have woken up at all this morning.  Unless of course slow death by drowning was in the cards, Dorian grinned, as he watched a line of drool darken his robes.

Reaching out to touch the top of Bull’s head Dorian was already contemplating how to best get the rest of Bull’s memories to return when, the moment his hand touched Bull, the man reared back, eyes wild, his horns swinging in a frantic arch that almost caught Dorian in the chest.

Dorian pushed back to avoid the horns, tipping the chair over with him still in it.  The mage curled and continued to roll away from his lover even as Bull’s eyes settled.  “I’m sorry.  Fuck, I’m sorry Dorian, I…I was dreaming,” Bull’s words were panted out, his breathing still heavy and labored.

Dorian’s own lungs were heaving and he settled one hand against the wall as he attempted to calm himself.   He was just relieved to find it was Bull still with him.  “It’s alright Bull, I understand.  What was it you remembered?”

The warrior dipped his head down, his words full of self-recrimination.  “I killed Gatt.  I can remember taking his head because…” Bull broke off, his head coming up as he sat back on his heels.  “He was threatening you.  I betrayed my people for you.”

Dorian winced, uncertain about how much he should tell Bull, how much he could say and still have the man believe him.  “He failed you first Bull.  He was only threatening me because I had tracked a threat to you and he turned out to be behind it.”

“But Gatt, I saved him from your people.  Why would he betray…no.  I betrayed him obviously.  What did I do to have him sent after me?”

“There was an incident.  You had to make a choice between the Chargers and a dreadnaught and you chose your men.”

“The Chargers,” Bull whispered, his eye losing focus for a moment that Dorian was starting to recognize proceeded Bull reclaiming yet more of his memories.  He remained silent until he knew Bull was finally back with him. 

“What did you remember?”

“Krem.  The bar.  My mission assignment.  I was to spy on Orlais for the Ben-Hassrath.  It was only chance that had me run into Krem in that bar…”

“I’ve heard the story Bull.  No matter what your superiors told you to do in Orlais, your choice to rescue Krem was your own.  In some ways I think it was the start of you truly becoming The Iron Bull.”

“You say that like it’s a good thing Dorian.  I betrayed my people, I have become…”

“Oh Amatus,” Dorian interrupted, dropping to his knees before his lover and taking Bull’s face between both hands.  “You are a good man, Bull.  Honest, trustworthy, caring.  Wait until you remember who you truly are before you start condemning yourself for it.”

Bull’s expression softened as he absorbed Dorian’s words, one large hand reaching up to lay over one of Dorian’s against his cheek.  “How can you say that after I tried to kill you?”

“Yes, well, I didn’t say there wasn’t room for improvement.”  Dorian’s deadpan expression only held for a few seconds before he grinning, relieved to see the same smile echoed on Bull’s face a moment later followed by a soft chuckle from the Qunari.

“Why is it I think life with you is never dull?”

Dropping his hands from Bull’s face as he stood Dorian extended one to help his lover to his feet before admitting, “Well, look at me.  Do you really believe anything about me could be dull?”

This time Bull’s laugh echoed through the room.

 

 

Bull watched as Dorian’s eyes lit up with humor and a feeling of rightness hit him so hard that he thought he might fall back to the floor from the strength of it.  This, this was somehow right.  He still couldn’t remember how in Andraste’s flaming ass he, a Ben-Hassrath operative had ended up with a Tevinter Altus but he was certain that seeing Dorian happy was as important to him as breathing.

Bending to lift the fallen chair back onto its four legs he had a suddenly less pleasant thought.  “Dorian, the guard last night.  I left her in my cell.  What if they didn’t find her?”

He watched alarm spread across the ‘Vint’s face and Dorian swallowed heavily before finally asking, “You left her…alive?”

Even knowing he deserved it, the question stung.  “Yes.  Unconscious but very alive.  But depending on what time it is she could still be there.”

“Kaffas, I suppose I should have thought of it earlier.  The Inquisitor must know what has happened by now considering Varric was the one who original fetched me.  It would be easiest to visit Cullen’s office, less chance of nosey nobles butting in.”

The image of a curly haired blond with golden eyes, the same one he had visualized the night before when he’d passed the door at the top of the stairs flashed through his mind.  In quick succession he saw the same man walking through lines of troops, making subtle corrections to training as he went, leading a charge against a fortress in the desert, his lion helm shining in the sun, and perhaps most peculiarly was the blond running from the Herald’s Rest stark naked while the rest of his companions laughed.  “Cullen a particularly fit blond with a penchant for streaking?”

Dorian snort of laughter made Bull smile.  “Interesting the things your mind chooses to remember.”

“Well he does seem quite memorable.”

“I think I might be insulted you choose to remember Cullen’s ass rather than my own.”

Bull arched one brow, unable to resist taunting the ‘Vint.  “Are you offering to refresh my memory?”

Dorian’s jaw fell open in a most amusing way before closing and falling back open again, a delightful shade of pink spreading across the ‘Vint’s cheeks.  “That’s not what I…that is…we should go see Cullen,” Dorian finally stammered, clearing his throat loudly before adding, “right now I think.”

Bull’s laughter accompanied them as they both slipped on their boots.  Dorian insisted on taking a few extra moments to straighten his hair and mustache just so, Bull was suddenly certain that the ornate mirror was there exclusively for the mage’s benefit which made sense, he’d never been much for worrying about his appearance.  Then Dorian was slipping out the door Bull had found his way in the night before, which is when the warrior hesitated upon catching his first sight of the guard his memory told him would be walking the wall until sundown. 

Dorian had taken several long strides toward Cullen’s office before turning around and frowning.  “Bull?”

Memories again flooded his mind.  The guard he was looking at was James, he had been with the Inquisition since Haven.  What or where Haven was he didn’t know but apparently it was important.  The red-head last night, Gessinia.  He had a sudden image of a birthmark high on her inner thigh and…Veshedan.  He’d fucked her more than once before he and Dorian had gotten together.  No wonder the woman hadn’t wanted to be in the same room as him when he didn’t even remember her.

“Bull?” This time the question was accompanied by Dorian’s hand resting gently on his arm.

Shaking his head slightly Bull offered Dorian a sheepish grin.  “Sorry.  More memories.  I’m thinking maybe it would be better if you went and brought Cullen here.”

“Bull, they know where you are, there’s no need to hide here…”

“I assaulted a guard.  More than one if my recent memories are to be believed.  I don’t want to cause more problems Dorian.”

He could tell from the set of Dorian’s shoulders that the man wanted to argue but in the end he just nodded.  “Right, I’ll be right back then.  Don’t go disappearing on me.”

 

Bull paced impatiently as he waited for Dorian to return.  It was frustrating, this slow filling in of his own past.  It was as if the Waking Sea had swallowed up everything between Hissrad and who he was today, drowning all of his memories and only isolated islands of knowledge were left.  He couldn’t even say with certainty that he was The Iron Bull.  Funny, he remembered telling Dorian that he was exceptionally fond of the article before his name but he couldn’t remember deciding on it in the first place.

As if that wasn’t confusing enough there was still enough of Hissrad in him for his mind to be urging him to flee, certain that Cullen would not be as understanding of his escape attempt as Dorian was.  And then there was Dorian.  How in the Void was it that he could verbally spar with the man, could know every little tell the man left about his ever-changing thoughts and emotions but he couldn’t remember the time he’d spent with the mage?  

Grumbling to himself as his knee began to ache Bull dropped down onto the edge of the bed, his hand reaching up to idly thumb the curve of the dragon tooth before remembering it wasn't there, just as the door opened again.  He leapt to his feet just in time to watch Dorian come through the door, followed by the man his memory had identified as Cullen.  “Commander.”

Bull shook his head, now where had that come from?  Apparently he had surprised both Cullen and Dorian also.

“More memories?” Dorian asked.

“Not exactly.” Bull admitted.  “To be honest I’m not certain what you’re even the Commander of.”

Dorian’s laugh was echoed by a sharp bark of humor from Cullen. 

“I see you’re still as honest as ever,” Cullen admitted with a shake of his head.  “I’ve got to admit I’m not sure what to do with you at the moment.”

“Cullen…”

“No Dorian,” Bull was quick to interrupt the ‘Vint.  “He’s right to be worried.  I’m a liability.”

“I don’t know that I’d go that far,” Cullen admitted, his eyes looking Bull over critically before speaking again.  “How much do you remember?”

“Not nearly enough to promise you I’m not a threat.”

Cullen rubbed his neck in what Bull knew was a nervous gesture.   “Dorian, your thoughts?”

“Even without his memory he didn’t kill anyone Cullen, and he certainly had plenty of opportunities to harm me since last night if that had been his goal.”

Cullen sighed, rolling his head slowly from one side to the other, his attention moving between Dorian and Bull.  “Varric told the advisors about what happened last night and Evel…the Inquisitor believes that perhaps allowing Bull more freedom around Skyhold may help restore his other memories.  For now I’m inclined to agree with her with the understanding that the guards will be watching him for any unusual behavior.”

“So he’s still to be a prisoner, just with a larger cell?” Dorian asked bitterly.

“It’s alright Dorian.” Bull rushed to assure the mage, in all honesty it was more than he’d expected.  “I understand the Commander’s concerns.”

“Thank you Bull,” Cullen acknowledged with a small nod.  “Dorian, I was hoping you would agree to stay with him, at least until Skyhold becomes more familiar…”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Dorian growled, shrugging off the hand Cullen attempted to lay on his shoulder.

“I’ll leave you two for now then.  If you need me Bull, you know where to find me.  Dorian, I believe the Inquisitor was hoping to see the pair of you later.”

Bull nodded his acceptance when it appeared Dorian wasn't going to respond.  Instead, the moment that the Commander let the door shut behind him Dorian flew into motion striding quickly across the room, a string of Tevene Bull could hardly follow flowing from his lips.  Interestingly enough some part of Bull was familiar with the ‘Vint’s outburst.  It would seem his lover had temper.

Watching as the mage paced until he slowly lost steam Bull waited for him to cross to the other side of the room before placing himself firmly in the man’s pacing path.  “Dorian, really.  It’s alright.”

Dorian turned as he reached the other side of the room and began to walk back toward Bull.  “But it’s not.  They’re treating you like a criminal and you’ve done nothing wrong.  Well, nothing wrong other than defending yourself.  We locked you up Bull, had you in chains and you remembered more about who you were in a ten minute escape attempt than we were able to restore to you in three weeks.”

“Is that what this is about Dorian?”  Bull finally asked when Dorian reached him, only to stop short of Bull’s reach.  “You couldn’t have known.”

Dorian shook his head as he took a step backward.  “No, I should have tried harder…done more research.”

Bull let Dorian have his space for the moment.  “More research?  Because hard headed Qunari are often smacked on the skull with a rock causing them to lose their memory?  You have an extensive number of research notes on that subject?”

“You don’t understand,” Dorian hissed, turning away from Bull again and storming to the far side of the room.  “You don’t know what I did…what I wanted to…”

It was the tremor in the mage’s hand as he raised it to lie against the edge of the dresser that alarmed Bull.  The part of him that was Hissrad was screaming that this was a trap, that the Mage finally had him exactly where he wanted him and this was where the axe fell.  It was that part of him that growled, “What have you done Mage?”

Dorian spun and pinned him with a stare.  “Don’t, don’t call me that.  Even if you can’t forgive me don’t let it be Hissrad that sends me away.”

Bull just stared at Dorian for several seconds, the mere thought of sending the mage away causing his heart to begin pounding in his chest and a pit to form in his stomach.  Memories again flooded his mind, of the ‘Vint walking away and leaving him on a balcony here somewhere in the keep, of being in this room and knowing that he had lost the only thing that mattered to him, of learning that the ‘Vint of all people made his horn balm, more current memories of the look of devastation on Dorian’s face when Hissrad accused him of using blood magic to ensnare him.  Fuck.  He was a fool.  He had harmed Dorian in so many ways, both small and large, he was lucky the mage was still standing here and all he could do was level more accusations at him?

Dorian had said it was a choice, that he had chosen to save Krem years ago, had chosen to save the Chargers over the dreadnaught.  Now he would have to choose again.  Because he had no doubt that if he continued to let the part of him that was Hissrad continue to doubt Dorian he would lose the mage.  In the end, it wasn’t really a choice at all. 

“Dorian, I could no more send you away than cut off my own arm,” Bull admitted, moving slowly to close the distance between them.  “I may not remember everything about us yet but I know that being here with you is right.  I may not trust myself right now but I trust _you_.”

By the time he finished speaking he had gotten close enough to wrap his arms around his lover and he couldn’t miss the shiver that went through Dorian, who refused to look up at him, choosing instead to focus on the center of Bull’s chest. 

“I was about to give up on you Bull, I asked Evie to consider,” Dorian broke off, the emotion in the eyes that finally raised to look at Bull, tortured.  “I asked her to consider returning you to Par Vollen.  Even knowing what that meant, what they would do to you, I asked her…”

Dorian broke eye contact again as he began to pull away from Bull’s embrace.  When Bull didn’t release him Dorian began to struggle harder against the warrior’s hold and some part of Bull said that in the past he would have let him go, wouldn’t have forced the issue.   But Bull’s instinct now was to hold tight, tucking the mage even closer to him, his chin resting on the top of Dorian’s head.  “It’s not your fault Dorian.  None of this is your fault.”

With a final shudder Dorian finally stopped struggling in his arms, the mage stiffening in his embrace for a brief moment before slowly relaxing, his arms grabbing hold of Bull as if he’d never let him go.  Bull felt his own heart break at the sob that was torn from his lover, and he didn’t need to have all his memories to know that what he was witnessing was not something the mage would let many see.  It was instinctive to bend and scoop Dorian up behind the knees, to carry him to the bed and settle them both so the mage could bury his head against Bull’s shoulder as the sobs tore through him.  The words came to Bull’s lips unbidden, but no less true, as his hand reaching up to stroke his mage’s hair gently.   “Oh, Kadan…”


	16. To Better Days

Dorian was completely still in Bull’s lap, spent.   His head still rested against the warrior’s shoulder, tucked in close enough that he didn’t have to look his lover in the eye.  A fact he was uniquely thankful for considering the amount of time he’d just spent blubbering on him like a child.  Fasta vass, he knew he wasn’t one of those that could indulge in a crying jag and come out looking attractive, no, he was all red face and puffy eyes and snot, well, everywhere.

 “You ok Kadan?”

“Am I through attempting to waterlog you, you mean?” Dorian meant his words to be light but the sniffle he made at the end ruined the attempt.  With a slight sigh he gave up on retaining any amount of pride and lifted the hem of his robe to wipe his face.

“I’d be a piss poor warrior if a few tears did me in,” Bull admitted with a shrug.  “Can’t say having you snuggled up in my lap is a bad thing either.”

“Perhaps you should consider a cat, they’re much easier to take care of.”

“Too much fur.  And they aren’t nearly as skilled at cuddling,” Bull rumbled, his arms tightening around Dorian who tucked his head down to rest against Bull’s chest.  Dorian could have purred in contentment himself when Bull dropped his head down carefully to rest his cheek against the top of Dorian’s head.  “Dorian?”

“Yes Bull?”

“Tell me about how we met, how we ended up together.”

Dorian chuckled.  “When we met you told the Inquisitor to watch out for me because the pretty ones were always trouble.  That was after we had to kill a room full of demons so Evie could close the rift.”

“I always was a good judge of character,” Bull chuckled, ignoring it when Dorian slapped at his chest. 

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

“I’m sorry storyteller.  Do go on.”

 

Bull closed his eye and just listened to the sound of Dorian’s voice.  As oddly unsettling as it was to listen to someone talk about _his_ life and having it sound like a story his Tama would have told, Dorian’s voice was soothing.  And every so often his mind would connect with a bit of his story and a memory would return.  The exact look on Dorian’s face, his cheeks flushed with drink, when he had pounded on Bull’s door before their first time together.  The sight of Dorian stretched out on his bed afterward, sweat glistening on golden skin.  The feeling of watching Dorian in battle, his staff twirling over his head, muscles bunching under robes, taunting Bull with the fact he was the one that would get to remove those robes later.

He was only aware of his low growl when Dorian stopped speaking and pulled away from far enough to frown up at Bull.  “Something the matter Amatus?”

Bull wasn’t quite certain he was ready to admit the combination of memories and Dorian’s voice was making him hard.  Something Dorian was going to discover for himself if he shifted over just a few more inches.  “Just memories,” he finally hedged, shifting closer to the edge of the bed.

“Unpleasant ones?”

“Not exactly,” Bull admitted.  “Let’s just say Cullen is no competition.”

“Oh.  _Oh_ ,” Dorian practically purred, his gaze warming as he slid next to Bull on the bed.  “Good to know you remember _something_ about me Amatus.”

“Oh, it’s something alright,” Bull teased, only to frown when Dorian froze next to him.  “Dorian?”

Dorian huffed an odd little laugh.  “I’m alright.  It’s just something we’ve said to each other before.”

Bull moved one hand over to cover one of Dorian’s on the bed.  “Is this too much for you Dorian?  I would understand…”

Shaking his head slightly Dorian snorted.  “Please.  If breaking my jaw didn’t run me off certainly a little bit of nostalgia isn’t going to.”

Bull winced.  “Dorian…”

Dorian pulled his hand from under Bull’s only to place his on top, twining his fingers with Bull’s.  “Stop.  That was stupid of me.  I just wanted you to know that I’m in this for the long haul.  As long as you want me to be.”

 _Get comfortable then because I’ll never let you go._   The words rattle around Bull’s mind, he almost let them fall from his lips but in the end he hesitated.  Until they knew that he would get all of his memories back it felt like cheating to make promises to Dorian.  To tie the man to him without knowing just how much of _his_ Iron Bull would ever return.  Instead he lifted both of their hands so that he could brush a kiss across Dorian knuckles. 

The way Dorian’s expression softened said he understood.  “Perhaps we should go check in with Evie.  She’ll be fit to be tied if we ignore her summons.”

“Well, she is the Boss.”  Bull frowned for a second before Dorian beamed up at him.  Fuck.  It was disconcerting to never be completely sure what was going to come out of his mouth.

“Just give me a minute to freshen up,” Dorian uttered with a pat to Bull’s cheek as he passed by him.

Bull didn’t need access to all his memories to know what that meant.  Prepared for a long wait he shifted on the bed to rest his back against the headboard.  He watched his lover for several minutes in silence, content to observe the way that Dorian moved through what Bull knew was his space with comfort and obvious familiarity.  It was somewhat of a learning experience to realize just how much care the mage put into preparing to face the world.  “You do this every day?”

“Not this again Amatus,” Dorian replied, sparing him a quick look over his shoulder before resuming applying kohl to his eyes.  “You seem to think beauty such as this just occurs naturally.”

“I think you looked fine before you started.”

Bull thought he caught the hint of a smile reflected in the mirror before Dorian scowled at him. “Fine is acceptable only for those who cannot achieve perfection.”

Bull chuckled.  “I stand corrected.”

“I should think so,” Dorian huffed, again the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he applied a light coat of gold powder to his cheeks before laying the brush down and turning to face Bull.  “Ready Amatus?”

Bull found it hard to respond.  He hadn’t been kidding when he said the mage was handsome before doing a thing, but now…damn, he truly was perfection personified.  The black kohl brought out the silver in his eyes, contrasting with the gold powder on his cheeks in a way that made his eyes shine like stars in the night sky.  His moustache was impeccably curled and served to draw Bull’s attention to lips so full it seemed a sin to leave them unkissed.  Veshedan, how in Koslun’s name had he ever forgotten anything about this man? 

Dorian was now looking at him with a certain level of concern and Bull realized he was still waiting for a response.  Telling himself he’d come back to thoughts of ravaging his mage later he smiled as he stood.  “Ready.”

At least he had thought he was ready.  That lasted until he and Dorian passed through Cullen’s office and the man conveniently informed them that the Inquisitor was currently in the Herald’s Rest along with the rest of the inner circle.  Apparently she decided she was done waiting for Bull to come and see her and she had tasked Cullen with getting both he and Dorian to the tavern.  The poor man had just been putting the finishing touches on his day before issuing her summons, their timely appearance had saved him the trouble. 

He told himself it was ridiculous to feel so uncertain about facing people who had been, actually still were, his friends, but it did nothing to diminish the anxiety that was pooling in his belly.  It was difficult enough to attempt to tread the fine line in his mind between the Hissrad part of his mind that continued to insist that every person they encountered was an enemy and the part of him that knew that wasn’t true.  As someone who had lived his entire life basing his decisions of logic it was difficult to surrender to ‘feelings’ and half formed memories.

He knew he wasn’t the only one who was concerned, he could feel Dorian bristling next to him as they walked towards the tavern but other than a couple of inelegant snorts the mage had kept his thoughts to himself.  And Cullen, poor Cullen, the man kept glancing past Bull over at Dorian as if he expected the mage to hit him with a lightning bolt at any moment.  The blond had already opened his mouth to speak three times only to close it again each time with a subtle shake of his head. 

Suddenly struck by the fact the three of them appeared more suited to be heading to a court-marshal than a tavern Bull startled the other two with a sharp bark of laughter as he reached out to slap both men on the shoulders.  “Cheer up men, it’s only a few drinks.”

Dorian snorted.  “Apparently you haven’t yet remembered Cabot’s brews.”

“I have it on good authority you have been seen putting away more than one of my country’s brews,” Cullen finally piped up with a small smirk.

“Yes, well, in a sea of sewage even dirty bathwater is an improvement,” Dorian drawled, pulling another bark of laughter from Bull.

“Should I ask why you know what…”Bull started only to be smacked in the arm by Dorian.

“Do not finish that Amatus.”  The heat in Dorian’s words were ruined by the sparkle in his eyes as he preceded Bull through the door Cullen had opened.

And just like that he was almost floored with memories.  The Chargers.  Ale.  Wicked Grace.  Celebrating a dragon kill.  The barmaid, Beth, laughing in his arms one moment spitting fire from her eyes the next.  The Boss choking on Maraas-Lok but still going back for a second round.  The ‘Vint squawking as he pulled him down on his lap the first time.  Krem laughing about his ‘pillowy man bosoms’.  So many memories they took his breath away and he found himself taking an instinctive step back, as though that could provide some much needed space.

“You ok Bull?”  Cullen’s voice, deep and steady offered a lifeline as Bull shook his head slowly, allowing his eyes to fall closed for a second.

“Just breathe Amatus,” Dorian chimed in, his hand moving to rest against Bull’s chest, a physical anchor in the here and now.  He could feel Dorian shifting, had the impression he was waving someone off, but his hand never moved from Bull’s skin.

Opening his eyes he was relieved to find his thoughts settling, and slightly embarrassed to have a room full of people witness his momentary panic.  Looking around he was mildly surprised to find the tavern less occupied than he expected it to be.  Memory told him that the room would normally be filled to capacity at this time of night.

“The Inquisitor thought perhaps it would be better to meet without an audience,” Cullen helpfully provided only a moment before the Boss’s voice echoed through the room.

“You three going to stand there all night or are we going to drink?”

“Drink Boss, definitely drink,” Bull chuckled, his nerves settling as he realized he did indeed remember everyone in the room.  Varric, Cassandra and Blackwall sat on one side of the table, the Inquisitor and Josephine on the other with a space left for Cullen.  Bull assumed the open bench at the end was meant for he and Dorian and that’s the direction he headed when he was stopped by another familiar voice.

“You always did know how to make an entrance Chief.”

Bull turned to find his lieutenant grinning at him from the corner.  The words poured from him without thought, but he knew they were right when the man grinned from ear to ear.  “Krem de la Krem!”

“Good to have you back Chief,” the man chuckled, then finished off his drink before heading toward Bull.  “I’m gonna head out for the night but tomorrow you have an appointment with me and the rest of the Chargers.  We’re thinking all this sitting around has made you soft.”

Bull dodged the playful blow Krem threw at his midsection.  “Just make sure you bring your shield, I’d hate to hurt that pretty face.”

“Awwww, he thinks I’m pretty,” Krem gushed, fluttering his eyelashes playfully before slugging Bull in the shoulder as he headed for the door.  Bull watched until the door closed behind his lieutenant, a soft smile teasing his lips.

“You alright Amatus?”

Turning back around Bull threw an arm over Dorian’s shoulder before admitting, “For the first time in I don’t know how long, yeah, I think I am.”


	17. Tal-Vashoth

The next several days passed in a dizzying array of new experiences and memories.  It seemed like every corner of Skyhold that he explored held a memory for him, many of them having to do with Dorian, but plenty more that involved the Inquisition’s inner circle or the Chargers.  It would seem he even spent time with Cullen’s soldiers from time to time.  And yet there was still so much he couldn’t remember.  It was like watching a conversation happen without being able to hear it.  Feelings and emotions, snippets of time but without the history to truly understand what it all meant.

And then it happened.  Bull had thought himself beyond acting from the space of pure instinct that he had found himself in when he first woke all those weeks ago.  But he had been training with Krem, trying to ignore Cullen’s two men that still followed him everywhere when Dorian wasn’t with him, when he saw the man.  The stranger had been climbing the steps from the lower keep, his muddy clothes and worn expression saying he’d just arrived in Skyhold and something in Bull snapped.

He was out of the training ring before Krem could process he was leaving, leaping over the wooden fence and almost knocking Varric, who was just coming off the Great Hall stairs, over in his haste to reach the russet haired man with eyes like emeralds.  Emotions he couldn’t explain pushed him hard, a fire burning in his chest as his mind somehow tied the man to Dorian.  He could have sworn there was a smile on the man’s face as a greeting began to pour from him only to be interrupted by Bull’s hand wrapping around his throat as he pinned him to the stone wall behind him.

“Tiny!”  Varric’s voice was a faint sound compared to the blood pounding in his ears.

“Who are you?” he growled, his mind still trying to make a connection.  Was he a threat to Dorian?  An old…

“Bull!”  Varric’s hand came up to wrap around Bull’s wrist, fingers closed tight enough to bruise as he attempted to pull Bull away from the man.

Bull watched the man try to swallow, saw his face go red with the effort of trying to breathe as confusion reigned in the man’s eyes.  The tingle of magic began to trickle in as Bull forced himself to back off enough that the man could draw a breath.

“Fasta vass…”

“Vint,” Bull growled, his grip tightening again just as a small jolt of electricity coursed through him, tossing him back several feet.

Caught in the crossfire, Varric also stumbled, shaking his head to clear the feel of electricity before placing himself firmly between Bull and the stranger.  “Sparkler isn’t going to appreciate you killing one of his oldest…” Varric broke off at the snort behind him, tossing the man behind him a ‘shut the fuck up’ look before amending, “fine, long term friends.”

“Friend?” Bull found himself asking, the emotions inside him still demanding he remove the threat despite the fact he could feel Cullen’s guards closing in on him.

“Yes, Emile is just returning from Val Royeaux.  Isn’t that right Emile?”

“Yes, yes, that’s correct,” the man grumbled, peering over Varric’s head at Bull.  “Do I want…”

The man broke off when Varric kicked his foot backwards, obviously connecting with a shin, and something about the movement began to defuse Bull’s fury.  With a pointed look over Bull’s shoulder to where he knew Cullen’s guards stood, Varric urged, “Why don’t you go find Sparkler?  Tell him Emile is back.  I’m sure he can explain far better than I can.”

Bull opened his mouth to utter an apology before realizing there really was no possible way to apologize for almost throttling a man because ‘instinct told me to’ and instead turned to head off in search of his mage.  Leading the way up the stairs with his guards following a short distance behind, he didn’t see the look of concern on Cassandra’s face as she watched him leave.

 

 

Bull was beginning to feel exceptionally foolish.  He still couldn’t remember having met Emile before but he was supposed to be a member of the Inquisition’s inner circle and he hadn’t been able to control himself the first time he encountered a true test of his memory.  He would have to pay a visit to Cullen later and try to explain his actions before he found himself back in the dungeon facing assault charges.  He could only hope whoever Emile was to Dorian that he would be understanding of Bull’s bizarre actions.  That was something Dorian could possibly assist with if he could ever find his missing mage.  He had checked the library and the storage room that still contained the bulk of Dorian’s personal library as well as his personal quarters.  He was about to admit defeat and just go visit Cullen first when it dawned on him he might be able to kill two birds with one stone.  He knew Dorian and Cullen frequently played chess in the Chantry garden, perhaps they’d be there.

Pushing through the door into the garden Bull was surprised to see Cullen pacing somewhat impatiently under the arbor accompanied by Cassandra not Dorian.  Taking a couple of steps toward the pair, he was still partially blocked behind a pillar when he stopped as he heard his name mentioned.  “…he did not actually harm the man Cullen.”

“But how long until he does?  I won’t have the people of Skyhold living in fear of one man’s actions, no matter how close to the Inquisitor he may be.”

“What is the option?  Evelyn won’t appreciate you issuing ultimatums Cullen, and Iron Bull has been getting better.  He has more memories returning every day.”

“And when he remembers what the Inquisition has cost him Cassandra, what then?  When he remembers that it’s Evie’s fault he’s now Tal-Vashoth.”

Tal-Vashoth.

Tal…va…shoth. 

The weight of those words caused Bull to physically stumble, one of the guards behind him reaching out to catch him before Bull turned with a low roar and swatted them both against the door.  If the earlier flow of memories had been a stream what he felt now was akin to a dam breaking, a torrent of thoughts and feelings that had him fleeing the garden without actually knowing what direction he was headed in.

Some small part of him surely heard Cassandra’s startled gasp and Cullen calling his name but it was buried beneath far too much inner turmoil to register.  He didn’t even care where he was headed, just that it be away from here.  Away from this place that had cost him so much.  These people who had, just by existing, driven him to forsake all he’d ever known to be true.

He, The Iron Bull.  Ben-Hassrath.  Hissrad.  Ashkaari.  Was Tal Va-Fucking-Shoth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, please don't start looking for a rock to hit me with. Look, I posted two chapters so I didn't have to disappoint those of you longing for the happiest of reunions. So feel free to move on to the next chapter :)


	18. I Really Messed It Up

Dorian had just dropped off a copy of Eleni Zinovia’s prophecies to one of the Fiona’s young mages.  The lad had an interesting theory on why so many of Dorian’s countrymen refused to accept Eleni’s prophecies as truth and Dorian had tasked him with providing some specific examples.  He didn’t often take it on himself to deliver such works, but this one had come from Felix’s collection and Dorian had wanted to ensure the boy was properly cowed into treating the volume with respect.  It was for this reason alone that he was the first person one of Cullen’s men encountered when they stormed into the tower. 

“We need a healer,” the soldier growled as though Dorian’s expertise would extend to conjuring one up.

“Then I suggest you try the medical tents.”

“But you’re closer.”

Dorian rolled his eyes as he wondered idly where Cullen had come up with this one from.  Granted most mages had been kept away from the general populace for years, but certainly they had to know that not every mage was a blighted spirit healer.  Still, it wouldn’t do for someone to bleed out while Dorian explained the difference between necromancy and healing.  “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll see what I can do while you go fetch a proper healer.”

“The Iron Bull knocked…”

Fasta vass.  “Where?  Where is he?”

“Chantry gardens with…”

Dorian didn’t bother waiting to hear the remainder of the man’s words, instead he raced out the door and across the battlement to hurry down the steps leading to the garden.  He wasn’t sure what he expected to find when he got there, but it certainly wasn’t Cassandra and Cullen fussing over the two guards who looked suspiciously like the ones who had been assigned to Bull that morning.

Slowing his pace as he approached the group of four, he was relieved to note that everyone was still standing.  He did see a steady stream of blood flowing from the temple of one of the guards but it was hardly enough to have had their companion summoning healers for.  “Commander, I was told there had been an incident.”

Dorian knew the moment Cullen’s hand went to the back of his neck that he wasn’t going to like what was coming.  He took a step closer to the Commander by instinct, pausing when Cullen’s two guards took a defensive step forward also.  “Stand down men.  I think it would be better if both of you went to the healers tent just to make certain you check out.  With the healer’s approval, have a pint on me afterwards.”

“Yes Commander,” the guards acknowledged at the exact same time before quickly scurrying out the door behind them, which had no doubt been Cullen’s idea in the first place.

However, once it was just the three of them Cullen appeared no more ready to explain himself, his head dropping so he was looking up at Dorian, one untamed curl falling over his forehead.  Dorian found himself wondering if that look worked on Evelyn, it was remarkably similar to the pitiful glances given by the Mabari the Southerners so favored.  “You should know better Cullen.  Just how angry am I going to be?”

“It wasn’t entirely Cullen’s fault,” Cassandra piped up bravely.

“Fine, fine, what did the two of you do?  And where in Andraste’s frozen assets is Bull?”

“I think the first question is have you talked to Emile yet?” Cassandra put forth.

“I wasn’t aware he had returned.”

“He has.  Unfortunately Bull was the first one to see him.  He had a, well, a very hostile reaction to Emile’s presence,” Cassandra said, ignoring Dorian’s cursing to continue, “Varric put an end to the conflict but sent Bull to look for you while I came straight here to apprise Cullen of the issue.  Unfortunately Bull came in during the middle of our conversation and we failed to notice him.”

“Venhedis!  How in the fuck do you miss a Qunari being tailed by two Inquisition guards entering the room?”

“Does the how really matter Dorian?”  Apparently the lion of Skyhold had found his tongue.  “The fact is that I apparently triggered some major memories for Bull when I mentioned he was Tal-Vashoth.”

“Festis bei umo canavarum,” Dorian growled, his grip on his staff shifting in a way that had Cassandra stepping defensively in front of Cullen.  “Do you have any fucking clue what you may have done?”

“He didn’t know, Dorian,” Cassandra reasoned, her eyes never leaving where his gripped his staff.

“Did you or did you not have what should be a very private conversation about someone I care about in a very public place?”

“I’m sorry Dorian.”

“Not really good enough Cullen,” Dorian growled, daring another step despite Cassandra’s interference.

“Dorian, I think we should focus on locating Bull, we can worry about placing blame later.”

Glaring at Cullen Dorian backed down.  Cassandra was right, a confused Bull roaming the halls of Skyhold was a bigger threat than a foolish Commander.  “Fine.  But unless word comes in of injuries, I _will_ be the one to look for him.  If I see any of your guards following him I swear not even Evie will stay my hand.”

“Fair enough,” Cullen admitted, his hand rising to rub the back of his neck again.  “For what it’s worth I’m sorry Dorian.”

“Save that until we know Bull is safe.” Dorian muttered as he stormed past the two warriors, his thoughts already categorizing the most likely locations for his lover to be in.  If he had attempted to leave the keep Dorian had no doubt Cullen would have been immediately informed, so that only left a few dozen locations.   Fasta vass…

 

 

Two hours.  It had taken him two fucking hours to exhaust all the logical locations for Bull to be.  He had thought about calling in the Chargers, was quite certain that they would be furious at him for handling this alone, but until he knew exactly what Bull’s mindset was he couldn’t justify placing anyone else in harm’s way. 

Letting the door fall closed behind him as he exited the last of the guest suites that lead up to his training terrace he knew that risky or not, if Bull wasn’t here he’d have to involve the others.  The fact that Cullen hadn’t tracked him down letting him know of any wounded guards was a good sign.  When he opened the door onto what he considered ‘his’ terrace Dorian let out a sigh of relief upon seeing his lover leaning against the stone balustrade and considering the stark white landscape that lay beyond Skyhold.  Two thoughts went through his mind.  Of course his lover would pick the one spot that Dorian was almost certain no one but he ever frequented, and secondly, that he was an idiot for not thinking of it sooner.  But at least now, he was a relieved idiot.

Closing the distance between them Dorian leaned his staff against the nearby balustrade before sliding next to his lover and leaning against the stone with both forearms, mimicking Bull’s position.  “So, how much do you remember?”

“Everything.” Bull muttered, turning around and leaning his back against the stone, his eye raising to look at the Inquisitor’s tower before them.  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Remaining where he was, Dorian looked out over the snow-covered mountains and tried to tell himself that any blame he heard in Bull’s voice was just his own guilt.  “I didn’t know how.  It’s not that I deliberately kept it from you, it’s just that at first I didn’t know if you would believe me and then there just didn’t seem to be a good time to say ‘sorry that everything you’ve ever know has been taken from you, by the way your people have turned their backs on you too’.”

Bull’s laugh was short and dark.  “Guess that’s not the thing that comes up in casual conversation huh?”

“Not exactly,” Dorian admitted, finally shifting so he could look at his lover.  “Are you alright?”

It took Bull so long to answer that Dorian was debating whether he’d actually spoken the question rather than just thought it when suddenly Bull sighed heavily.  “Not even close Kadan.”

“Amatus…”

Bull shook his head slowly.  “No, not right now Dorian.  I need some time to think about this.  I remember everything but it’s not all the same.  I feel…I don’t know, some things seem so clear and others, it’s like I’m seeing things for the first time.”

Dorian wondered how it was possible for his heart to be in his throat and sinking to his feet at the same time.  Perhaps it had finally just broken in two.  He knew what he wanted to say, but this wasn’t about him at the moment.  Instead he poured every bit of ability he had into keeping his word even and calm.  “I understand.  I’ll just leave you alone…”

“No!” Bull’s denial was out before Dorian had completed two steps and he found himself pulled back into his lover’s arms.  Bull’s voice was heavy with emotion as he whispered the words into Dorian’s ears.  “I didn’t mean you Kadan.  If anything I owe you an apology.  The things I said to you, the things I did.”

Dorian found himself spun around so quickly he would have fallen if he hadn’t been tugged up against Bull again the moment he was facing his lover.  One large, silver hand tucked under his chin and he found himself staring up into the only face he ever cared to wake up to again.  “If I could only have one set of memories back Kadan, I’d want them to be of you,” Bull whispered, the hand that cupped Dorian’s chin sliding up his jaw so he could wipe at the tear he found there.

“Amatus…”

“Shhhh,” Bull chided, his thumb sliding to ghost over Dorian’s lips.  “I fucked this up the first time so let me try it again.  This thing we have Dorian, it _is_ everything.  Even with my memory gone I knew you, knew that you were important to me.  Fuck Kadan, I’m shit at this, but I love you.”

“Damn you Amatus,” Dorian growled, his words losing all heat in light of the tears flowing freely down his cheeks.  _He loves you.  He loves_ you.

A soft smile and a small shake of his head was the only warning his lover had before Dorian wrangled that huge skull down to meet him in a kiss he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to come up from.  Weeks of worry and confusion and need and _love_ poured into one moment of passion as their lips met.  First hard and needy, teeth nipping demanding access that was instantly given then tongues meeting together on soft sighs.  Blunt fingers threaded through his hair that, for once, he didn’t give a damn how it looked as his own curled around Bull’s horns, refusing to let go.

Only when blackness threatened the edged of his vision did he reluctantly back away, only far enough to draw in a breath released by his love.  A new need overwhelming him as he whispered against Bull’s lips, “I love you too Amatus.”


	19. Anytime Kadan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First, I just want to say thank you to everyone who has left kudos and/or comments on this fic. It was painful to write but I really wanted to explore the dynamics of Dorian and Bull under different circumstances. There will be more on Bull's thoughts about being Tal-Vashoth now that he has such fresh memories of Hissrad in the next part of the series. 
> 
> I had the best of intentions to explore that in this chapter but instead...smut, pure unadulterated smut. What can I say, the boys call the shots...

 

 

Bull entered the tavern from his room with a spring in his step and a smile on his lips.  Things had been slowly going back to normal over the last four days.  So much so that he, Dorian and Varric were scheduled to leave in the morning with the Inquisitor for a short trip to the Storm Coast.  The Blades of Hessarian had come across signs that Red Templars were moving through the mountains to the south so they were going to be investigating for possible new encampments. 

“It will make him happy The Iron Bull.”  Bull startled as Cole appeared next to him, at the top of the stairs, the spirit’s eyes falling on the dragon tooth that now rested securely around Bull’s neck, the silverite chain having just been repaired.

Pausing at the top of the stairs, Bull frowned down at Cole, certain the spirit could only be talking about one person.  “Is he not happy now?”

Cole shifted to look down at the first floor of the tavern.  “Happier but not fully.  Trusting but still fearful.  A legend or the truth?  Why would he lie?  Why _wouldn’t_ he lie?”

“That’s enough Cole,” Bull muttered as he moved next to the spirit to look down at where Dorian sat laughing with Emile.  He had known that something was bothering Dorian, but he had assumed the mage was still just adjusting to things moving back into a normal pace.  A bit unfair of him, Bull supposed, to assume that he could spring those three words on Dorian and expect everything else he’d said as Hissrad to just fade away.  And fuck if, even without Bull’s memories to guide him, Hissrad hadn’t known exactly how to cause Dorian the most pain.

Watching his lover laugh at something Emile was saying Bull felt none of the gut-churning jealousy that he had felt the first time he saw the two men together.  He debated interrupting the men, the conversation he needed to have with Dorian obviously needed to be had in private and could wait until the men finished visiting, although noting the two bottles already littering their table that conversation might have to wait until tomorrow.  On the other hand, he did still owe Emile an apology, one that wasn’t going to get any easier to say the more time that passed.

With his decision made Bull quickly headed down the stairs, pleased to see Dorian’s eyes light up, a happy smile on his lips when he saw him from across the room.  The smile faded slightly when Dorian’s eyes slid down to see the dragon tooth back around Bull’s neck, his brows furrowing for a moment before he stood to greet Bull.  “Amatus.”

Bull tilted his head down for the kiss Dorian raised up on tip-toe to give him, his mind quieting as he wrapped one arm around his ‘Vint, the sweet taste of wine on his lover’s tongue drawing a little groan from him.  Bull wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to this part of Dorian, it hadn’t been so very long ago that even a subtle caress under the table would have had his mage bristling and now…fuck.  Now they needed to sit back down before he gave in to the instincts telling him to throw Dorian over his shoulder and continue this moment in private.

A subtle clearing of a throat behind them had Dorian breaking away only a moment before Bull would have forced himself to, and Bull looked up to find Emile looking at them with a bemused expression.  “Good to see you Bull,” the amused ‘Vint greeted, and Bull noted for the first time just how high the man’s collars were, a thick scarf wrapped beneath them and tucked into his robes.

Wincing slightly as he realized the reason for the man’s odd fashion Bull put out a hand in greeting, “And you Emile.  Although I believe I owe you an apology.”

“No harm done.  Varric was kind enough to fill me in on the details.  I just wish I had been here earlier, perhaps throttling me would have solved the situation sooner.”

Bull allowed himself a short bark of laughter before shaking his head at the other mage.  “Even so, I am sorry for the injury.  It didn’t exactly make for a pleasant welcome back.”

“Yes, and here I am barely returned and if I understand Dorian correctly you are off again in the morning.”

“Ah, yes, a week of rain and muck with the potential of Red Templars,” Dorian drawled with a dramatic shudder.  “You sure you won’t join us Em?”

“Not for all the brandy in Antiva,” Emile said with a grin.  “I’ll just have to sit here and pine over your absence.  I do hope you return before I have to begin my trip home.  I expect to hear from my contact in Val Royeaux within the next week or so and then I should be going.”

“Boss says we should be back within a week,” Bull offered, the part of him that would always be Ben-Hassrath wondering what business the Tevinter mage had in Orlais.

“Will you join us Amatus?” Dorian queried, sliding back onto his own chair while gesturing toward the seat next to him.

“Actually Ren, I think I’m going to go see if Josephine has heard anything from home.  You and Bull go ahead and enjoy your evening.”

As far as subtlety went, it was a piss poor example, especially when the man winked at Bull as he went by but Bull wasn’t going to argue if it meant he got time alone with Dorian. 

“I do believe we have just been ditched,” Dorian said as he hastily stood to watch his friend hurry from the tavern.

“I prefer to think of it as a sudden opportunity to spend some time alone,” Bull drawled, closing the distance between them as he spoke until his last words were whispered against Dorian’s ear.

Dorian pressed back against him, shifting slightly against Bull’s rapidly hardening cock before admitting, “I think I prefer your take on things.  Shall we Amatus?”

With one last shift of his hips Dorian pulled away, throwing a smoldering glance over his shoulder as he headed for the stairs, only to yelp a moment later when Bull caught up with him and proceeded to turn him around before throwing him over his shoulder and bounding up the two flights of stairs.  Ignoring his lover’s sputtering for the moment Bull navigated the final few steps as well as his bedroom door despite the kick Dorian landed to his gut, slamming the door shut to silence the rousing laughter that had followed them until that point. 

Gently tossing his lover on the bed Bull was smart enough to stay out of reach as Dorian twisted, as annoyed as a wet cat, before finally getting his legs under him and kneeling on the bed.  “Really Amatus, have I become something that you just cart around like a sack of potatoes?”

Bull just shrugged.  “I got us here didn’t I?  And look, you didn’t even have to get out of breath climbing all those pesky stairs.”

“Out of breath!  Out of…”

Deciding his lover was just complaining from force of habit not from any real desire to scorch Bull’s backside he shut Dorian up in the most expedient manner possible, by reaching out and pulling the other man to him, his lips crashing down to claim his mage the way he’d wanted to earlier.

Again Dorian’s distinct taste, all cinnamon and spice and still a hint of the wine he’d been drinking flooded Bull’s senses.  He broke the kiss to nip his way across Dorian’s jaw and down his throat to the hollow of his neck where Bull bit and sucked hard enough to ensure the mark he left behind would be visible for days.  Dorian’s soft moan when straight to Bull’s cock, his own sense of control being tested as Dorian’s skilled hands made short work of his belt before sliding into his pants.

“Clothes off now,” Bull rumbled, moving to the other side of Dorian’s neck before laying a matching mark to the skin there.  “Unless you’d like me to remove them.”

“No, No, that won’t…” Dorian broke off with a moan as Bull licked a path from his throat to his ear before nipping at the lobe.  “Fasta vass, just rip it.”

Bull retreated for a moment, his brow raised in surprise as he debated just how pissed Dorian was going to be later for this moment of spontaneity.  If the need evident in those hooded grey eyes was any indication, it was not much, and with a shrug and a grin Bull grasped the material in both hands and pulled.  Torn cloth was instantly forgotten in favor of watching the contrast between tawny skin and his own silver hand as he ran a single finger down his lover’s chest before lowering his head to nudge Dorian back onto the bed.  Scattering kisses across Dorian’s chest he paused to lick and nip at one firm nipple, dragging another low moan from Dorian, as his one hand worked at Dorian’s laces.

“Bull…”

“Like that kadan?”

The ‘Vint’s only answer was to tug at Bull’s horn, shifting his attention to the other side of his chest where Bull was happy to repeat the performance before marking a trail down Dorian’s belly with nips and licks that had his lover arching off the bed.  Chuckling, Bull worked the laces free at last and shoved Dorian’s pants down far enough to free his cock, rock hard and displaying a tempting bead of liquid at the tip. 

Bull thought he heard his name somewhere in the mix of Tevene spilling from his lover’s lips, Dorian’s hands moving to fist in the sheets as Bull ran his tongue up the long length to circle the tip before swallowing his cock down to the root.  Fingers now pulling at his own laces as he continued to work his way up and back down Dorian’s cock.  The hand that was splayed at Dorian’s hip, holding his lover still despite the way Dorian’s hands came up to tug at his horns.  Pulling away from Dorian’s cock he bit at the juncture of the ‘Vint’s hip before growling against his skin, “Patience Kadan.”

“I’ll show you patience,” Dorian grumbled in response, his long legs wrapping around Bull’s hips before throwing his weight to the side at the same time he wrestled with Bull’s horns.  Chuckling as he allowed himself to be maneuvered Bull barely had time for his back to hit the bed before Dorian was shifting above him, reaching for the bottle of oil as Bull kissed and nipped every inch of copper-hued skin he could reach. 

A groan was torn from him when Dorian slipped away, sitting up and looking at Bull with that wicked grin of his as he opened the bottle, making a show of slowly allowing the oil to drip down Bull’s twitching length.  “Kadan…”

“I think I heard something about patience Amatus,” Dorian taunted, slapping away Bull’s hands when he would have tugged the mage closer to him.  Allowing a low growl to rumble in his chest Bull tucked his hands behind his own head, only to move one to grip the sheets hard enough to hear the cloth tear when Dorian’s hands finally wrapped around his cock. 

His head dropped back further, his eye closing without thought as Dorian used both hands, one tight at the base as the other slid up and down his length, twisting a bit every time he approached the crown and drawing another growl from Bull.  Shifting beneath the ‘Vint Bull couldn’t help his hips thrusting into Dorian's strokes. 

Bull groaned at the loss of one of Dorian’s hands, his eye opening to see his lover towering above him, head thrown back and eyes closed, his cock hard as stone as he worked himself open enough to take Bull.   Fuck, he wanted to let Dorian run the show if that’s what the ‘Vint wanted but Bull couldn’t resist reaching out to wrap a hand around Dorian’s hip, his thumb tracing the rise of the man’s hip and drawing a low moan from the mage.  Feeling his own cock jump in response to the slight thrust of Dorian’s hips Bull was afraid he was going to embarrass them both by coming before he even got the pleasure of being buried in his lover.  “Kadan…”

“Patience…”  Dorian taunted.

“Dorian…”  The name was not so much spoken as cried as the mage finally shifted, moving up over Bull’s hips to slowly lower himself onto Bull.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Bull was torn between wanting to stop Dorian’s slow descent to regain some control and wanting to grab the man’s hips and slide himself fully home.  He knew Dorian would have bruises on his hips from the strength of Bull’s grip but the mage never hesitated, just continued his long slow slide down Bull’s length until he was buried to the hilt. 

Only then did Dorian bend over, his lips whispering across Bull’s, tongue darting out to lick the seam of his lips before sliding inside to tangle with Bull’s tongue.  Veshedan, it was torture, his cock throbbing, demanding more than the slight tilt of Dorian’s hips as he kissed Bull into oblivion.  And then, just when he thought he couldn’t take anymore, when everything in him was demanding he flip the mage over and take what he needed, driving them both to completion, Dorian sat back, his hand bracing on Bull’s chest as he began move.

Bull’s head fell back on a moan as Dorian pulled almost all the way off him, only to slide back down, each time just a little bit harder, just a little faster at each sound he pulled from Bull.  A string of Qunlat fell from Bull’s lips as he felt himself edging closer to completion, his hand moving to wrap around Dorian’s cock, pulling in time to Dorian’s plunges until the ‘Vint was babbling the same nonsensical things that were falling from his own lips.

‘Amatus!” Dorian cried, stilling against Bull as his come poured over Bull’s fist.  The added pressure of Dorian pulsing around him had Bull following him in just a few small thrusts, his own cry of completion echoing through the room as Dorian fell forward, his lips pressing a hard kiss against Bull’s chest.

 

 

For a long while the only sound in the room was that of their breathing, one of Bull’s hands running lazy tracks up Dorian’s spine as they slowly tumbled back down from their peak.  He knew the ‘Vint was fully back with him when the man’s fingers began tracing the outline of the dragon tooth, his finger light against Bull’s skin.  Regretting the fact he just might be ruining the moment Bull spoke quietly, “I didn’t exactly lie to you.  Either time.”

The ‘Vint tensed against him, but otherwise made no sound even though his hand stopped it’s progression around the tip of the tooth.  Bull was relieved Dorian had made no attempt to move away from him, it made the fact that Bull’s cheeks were beginning to heat more bearable.  “It is an old legend Kadan, but not exactly unheard of.  And it means exactly what I said it means.”

Dorian’s words when they finally came were heavy with emotion.  “Why then?”

Fuck.  He didn’t need to see his ‘Vint to know there would be tears in his eyes even if they hadn’t fallen and he resigned himself to allowing the man to see his embarrassment as he tugged the man further up his chest so he could look him in the eye.  Seeing the bruises he’d left on Dorian’s collarbone he fingered one gently.  “It’s like these marks Kadan.  When I knew I wanted you to be mine I wanted something that wouldn’t fade.  Something that said you were mine.”

Sadness gave way to bemusement in the grey eyes that were focused on him, and there was a slight upturn to Dorian’s lips as he asked, “So you were marking me?”

“I didn’t think you’d appreciate a brand,” Bull teased, his face still hot at admitting he was possessive enough to want everyone in Skyhold to know Dorian was _his_.

Dorian snorted, that sound Bull loved so much because it was so very undignified.  “I think not.  Still, you wear one too…”

“Am I not yours as much as you are mine?”

“Bull…” Dorian started, only to break off as he looked down at the pendant laying against Bull’s chest, his hand now pressed firmly to its surface.

“I’m sorry I made you doubt this Kadan.  Doubt us.  The me that I was then couldn’t have grasped the concept of loving you as I do.  Fuck, of loving anyone enough to want to make them his.  It was confusing to me and I lashed out.”

“And the you now?”

“I know what I’ve got and I plan to keep it,” Bull growled, his eye staring pointedly at Dorian until his ‘Vint began to turn a delightful shade of pink.  Reaching out to tuck a finger under the chain around Dorian’s neck he used it to pull the mage closer to him.  “And for the record, knowing this is hidden under those ridiculous robes of yours taunts me every moment of the day.”

Dorian leaned closer yet, rubbing his nose against Bull’s before moving his mouth up against Bull’s ear and purring, “Care to show me how much Amatus?”

“Anytime Kadan, anytime.”


End file.
